


do me a favor

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, POV Alternating, POV Jon Snow, POV Sansa, Past Jon Snow/Ygritte, Slow-ish burn, lil bit of angst, minor sam/gilly, sassy starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 10:22:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: When Sansa moves into her new apartment, she didn't really expect to keep asking favors of the attractive man across the hall. When Jon finds out Ygritte is bringing a date to Sam and Gilly's wedding, he knows exactly how she can pay him back.





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt posted by bloodymascara1: "Hey I know this is weird and I just moved in today so I don't know you but could you do me a favor and kill the bug in my bathroom?

It was almost two in the morning when Sansa decided to call it quits. She had been unpacking boxes for the better part of the day, since she had got to the apartment in the time between afternoon and evening. She’d gotten most of the essentials unpacked: her bathroom, her bedroom, enough of her kitchen that she could make herself breakfast before doing any more unpacking.

The prospect of crawling between her perfectly clean, new sheets while sticky with sweat, grime, and dust was less than appealing though, so Sansa decided a shower before going to bed wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Arya had been in charge of unpacking the bathroom for the brief half hour she had helped before being summoned to do something or another. Sansa had yet to really look in the bathroom, and the time she spent undressing, hanging a towel, and turning on the shower she was focused on the fact that Arya had not only thought to hang the shower curtain, but also to put down the bath mats. All of this distracted her from the massive spider that sat watching her in the tub.

It wasn’t until she had already wet her hair and was reaching for the shampoo that she noticed it. She screamed.

“Shit,” she cursed, flinging herself out of the shower and as far away from the spider as she could. Wrapping a towel around her torso, she tried to do the logical thing and kill the spider by angling the shower head at it, but that only resulted in soaking her floor and bath mats. “Shit,” she swore again. Sansa danced around for a moment, trying to think of another way to kill the spider. She couldn’t just go to bed, knowing the thing was loose and freely roaming her apartment while she slept. “Fucking hell,” she muttered, realizing that her best solution would be to go get someone to kill it.

Sansa strode through her apartment, hoping to move quickly enough that the spider didn’t have a chance to escape. There were two other apartments on her half of the building—the one across the hall and the corner apartment that faced the hallway and stairs. She hadn’t seen anyone come in or out of the corner apartment all day, so she went for the one across the hall, as Arya had made a comment about the person who lived there when she was hauling the one box up.

It wasn’t until Sansa started knocking on the door that she realized that she couldn’t remember what it had been that Arya had said. She prayed to the Seven that it hadn’t been that he looked like a serial killer. She prayed that it was a woman who opened the door, or someone who just obviously wouldn’t want to wear her skin as a suit. She didn’t expect an attractive young man to open the door. His grey eyes resting on her face for only a second before traveling down was what altered her to the fact she was still soaked and in a towel. A chorus of _shits_ echoed in her head.

“Can I help you?” he asked slowly. Her knocking had obviously woken him up. It took Sansa a moment to force her brain onto the appropriate track to answer that question properly.

“Yeah, um, I know this is weird and I just moved in today, so I don’t know you, but could you do me a favor and kill the spider in my shower?” It all came out in a rush, but Sansa didn’t think it would all come out other way. If she said it any slower it may have come out _could you do me a favor and help me shower?_ And that was not the appropriate way to meet your new neighbors.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just let me grab my shoes.” The man started to disappear back into his apartment, but Sansa called out, thinking of her soaking floor.

“Bare foot may actually be better. There was a failed attempt at drowning it that drowned my bath mats instead,” Sansa admitted. The man’s head had come into view just enough for her to see a slight trace of a smile over his mouth. She had to force herself not to stare.

“All right, where is it?” he asked once they were in her apartment. Sansa was hovering near the door to the bathroom.

“By the shampoo bottle.” She heard the shower curtain being pushed back, and bottles being moved around.

“I don’t see anything.”

“ _Shit_. It escaped.” Sansa scurried backward, ready to pounce on top of a piece of furniture if need be. She heard the man make a sound of shock and disgust, which was enough cause for her to stand on her bed, still clutching the towel around her chest. A smacking sound and the toilet flushing followed his exclamation.

“It had crawled in between the shower curtains,” the man explained, coming out of the bathroom. Sansa had yet to step down from the bed.

 “But you got it? It’s dead?” The man laughed.

 “Yeah, dead and flushed. It’s safe to come down now.” He offered her a hand, which she hesitantly accepted as she _really_ didn’t want to accidentally flash this man after waking him up at two in the morning to kill the spider in her shower.

 “Thanks. Thanks for that, too. I completely owe you, but I can’t kill anything for you. I’m not good with bugs—especially flying ones or ones in the same area I am while I’m naked.” The last word caused Sansa to blush—two in the morning, new apartment, attractive man, wet, in a towel, and saying _naked_. She didn’t think this could get more embarrassing.

“No problem.” He looked like he was ready to offer his hand to shake it, to mark an official introduction, but Sansa was clutching her towel tightly with both hands. “See you around?”

“Yeah, sure, see you around,” she stated, waiting only a handful of seconds after he turned towards his door to quickly shut her own. _Arya’ll give me hell for this when she finds out_ , was Sansa’s thought as she stepped into her freshly de-spider-ed shower. _I’ll get a can of the spray tomorrow. That way I don’t have to make an utter ass of myself every time something crawls._

* * *

The next morning, her phone pinging obnoxiously awakened Sansa.

“Hello?”

“If you’ve not let me in in the next two minutes, you’ve forfeited my help for the day.” Sansa sighed, rolling out of bed.

“Is unpacking one box really helping? Because that was all you did yesterday,” Sansa pointed out, moving to press the button on the panel to allow Arya access and to stop the intolerable buzzing that meant that Arya was not only calling her, but also continually pushing the buzzer. “Seven hells, lay off the buzzer. I’m letting you in.”

 “Thank the fucking Seven.”

Sansa unlocked the door so Arya could let herself in before waking up the whole building and moved to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee to help deal with her high energy sister. While filling the coffee pot with water, Sansa kept an eye out for any thing else that crawled, creeped, or, Seven forbid, slithered. _That’s what Arya can do. I’ll unpack the boxes, and she can kill anything living that isn’t paying rent._

“You’ve lived here less than twenty-four hours. How is it you’ve already gotten a gift from your neighbors?” Arya asked by way of greeting.

“I’ve what?”

“It’s past ten and you’re not showered, made up, and through your fifth box? This is the first time I’ve seen you in pajamas after eight since the morning after your eighteenth birthday.” Sansa rolled her eyes while her back was turned. That was another event that Arya would never let her live down.

 “I was up until two unpacking. I’m allowed to sleep in. Back to the gift though. What’re you talking about?”

“Here. Make me a cup too, will you?” Arya handed her a cylindrical object wrapped in newspaper. _For your spider infestation –Jon_ was scribbled on it in Sharpie. “Who’s Jon?” Sansa was too busy opening the gift. It was a can of the spider/bug killing spray she was planning on buying. She found herself smiling. “ _Raid_? Fantastic welcome to the complex gift.”

“Can you get the mugs? They’re in the cabinet over there.” Sansa gestured vaguely in hopes to get Arya on a different train of thought.

The rest of the morning, Arya pestered Sansa. _Who’s Jon? Why did he give you a can of Raid? Have you already got inside jokes with your neighbors? Damn, you move fast._ The last one got Arya a pillow chucked at her head.

“Robb’s on his way with the truck. Do you want me to call Gendry for extra muscle?” Arya asked after they’d nearly finished the kitchen. Ned and Robb had come down with the truck yesterday to haul her bed and dresser into the apartment, but the truck bed wasn’t able to hold all of her furniture in one trip.

“I think we’re all right without him. We got the bed and dresser up without him yesterday, didn’t we?” Arya gave her a skeptical look but didn’t comment.

They were able to finish the kitchen, aside from the cabinets Arya organized that Sansa wanted to redo once she’d left, by the time Robb buzzed the intercom to let them know he was downstairs. Sansa sent Arya down to get started while she finished putting away the silverware. She thought that they could handle it. Or, rather, she thought Robb could handle Arya.

“Fucking hell, why is this end table so heavy? It’s empty. All it could fit is a single glass, how could it possibly be so heavy?” Arya griped as she backed into the apartment, holding up half of the end table Sansa found at a flea market as Robb carried the other end.

“Why’re you carrying it then? Dad and Robb probably could’ve carried it fine.”

“Dad didn’t come. It’s just Robb.” Arya sounded disappointed and Robb looked wounded.

“Aren’t I enough?” he joked.

“If you think you’re enough to carry that damned sofa up the stairs on your own, be my fucking guest.” The realization slapped Robb across the face hard enough to make both sisters laugh. “I’ll go call Gendry.”

Once Arya was out of the apartment, Robb picked up the newspaper that had been wrapped around the can of Raid.

“Who’s Jon?” _If someone asks me that one more time, I’m killing someone._

“Just a neighbor.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you living in this complex if people are giving Raid as welcome gifts.” Sansa rolled her eyes.

“It wasn’t random. Jon killed the spider in my shower last night.” His lack of response made her turn. He was studying her intently, brotherly concern apparent. Sansa had to hold in her sigh of exasperation.

“Sansa, you have to be careful. You can’t just go around—”

“Oh, save it, Robb,” she groaned, having heard this lecture enough times, from Ned, Catelyn, and him. “I can take care of myself.” Robb looked skeptical. Sansa was offended, but it was a tired argument and she didn’t feel like getting into it with him after being up late and having to deal with Arya all day. At least Arya would just give her shit for not being able to kill the spider, not for asking a man for help. She wanted to defend Jon to Robb, but she didn’t. She just moved on and hoped, despite the fact that she was twenty-three, her brother and parents would one day see her as an adult.


	2. Jon

Jon went for a morning run. He had woken up early, wondering about the woman who had apparently moved into the apartment across from him, into Sam’s old apartment, before he moved in with Gilly. After not being able to distract himself with the normal things that he spent the weekends doing, he hoped a run would be more effective. But the run served dual purposes: both to get his mind off her, but also to increase the likelihood of seeing her again, if not just to learn her name. When he came upon the apartment building, he realized that the run might have been more beneficial in fulfilling its second purpose than its first. Sitting in a sofa that was in a truck bed was the dark haired girl that he had saw going in and out of the redhead’s apartment yesterday. Jon pulled his headphones out so he could hear what she was saying.

“…because Robb’s an idiot and thinks he’s the Hulk. Really? You can’t get away for an hour? Well, all right. Maybe Sansa’s living room will have wheels and follow Robb around. No, I know. It’s not your fault. It’s my stupid siblings’. Yeah. Later. Bye.”

Jon was about to unlock the complex door when he heard the girl jump down from the truck.

“Hey, Curly!” Slowly, he turned. “Can you lend a hand? My brother’s an idiot and thought he could lift the sofa to the second floor on his own.” Jon couldn’t believe his luck.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“Brilliant.” She was tapping on her phone again. “Hey, I recruited some muscle. No, Gendry couldn’t come; he got called into work. Ten minutes ago. If I had called when I asked… You’re right. This is Robb’s fault. Tell him to get his ass down here.” The girl turned back toward Jon, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she and the redhead were actually sisters. They didn’t look anything alike. “I’m Arya, by the way,” she said abruptly, sticking out her hand.

“Jon.” A grin that caused alarm bells in Jon broke over Arya’s face.

“ _You’re_ Jon? All right, what’s the story between you and Sansa? You’re giving her gifts already? I mean, I knew she worked fast, but damn. And why Raid? That’s probably the weirdest gift she’s ever gotten. That I know of, at least.” She spoke so fast that it took Jon a minute to process everything she’d said.

“I killed the spider in her shower last night,” he admitted, thinking it would set straight whatever perception of he and her sister that Arya had. He thought she might be relieved, but instead she started cackling. She only stopped when who Jon had to guess was the redhead’s—Sansa’s—brother came out of the building. He could see the relation there.

“Jon, this is apparently Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is Jon. He’s our muscle for the morning.” Jon was pretty sure he hadn’t agreed to be their muscle for the morning, but if he was going to see the redhead again, he wasn’t going to complain.

“Robb,” the brother corrected, shooting a glance at Arya. Jon suddenly felt both blessed and cursed that he was an only child with no siblings.

“All right. So if you two get the sofa, I’ll get the doors,” Arya offered. Robb nodded, hopping into the truck bed and Jon moved over to take the other send of the sofa.

The entire way up the stairs to his floor, Arya kept up a running commentary directed at Robb and the fact that he thought he would be able to move the furniture into the apartment with only Arya and Sansa for help. When Arya opened the apartment door, she rushed in to give Robb more of a hard time with Sansa present, or so Jon thought.

“You couldn’t kill a spider by yourself?” Arya exclaimed. Jon was just inside the door, and he saw Sansa’s head snap up from the box she was unpacking on the other side of the apartment.

“Who told you—oh. Hi.” She had paused when her eyes met his. Jon realized he must’ve been half asleep when he’d seen her last night, because his memory didn’t do her justice in the least. “You can put it against the windows there,” she gestured and had Jon forgotten that he was carrying half of a sofa.

Once the sofa was in the proper place, he joined Robb in bringing the rest of the furniture up: coffee table, nightstand, armchair, another end table, couple of lamps, couple of bar stools. Jon was pretty sure Sansa had more furniture in her apartment than he did, and he’d been living there for three years. Every time they came up with a new piece, Jon tried not to stare at Sansa, but every time they came up she was standing, kneeling, crouching, with a new angle pointed at him and damn was it hard. He’d never seen anyone look so beautiful in shorts and a tank top. He couldn’t very well continually check her out while standing next to her brother though.

“All right, that’s the last of it,” Robb said, sitting on the stool they had just brought up. “Got any food?” Sansa’s head whipped around and Jon saw the fire in her expression.

“I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, what’d you think? You want food, go home.” Robb raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll take you guys out tomorrow for helping me move,” she relented.

“Great. See you tomorrow then. Come on, Weasel.” Robb ruffled Arya’s short hair and she looked ready to put him in a headlock.

“Really, Robb? You wanna start with the childhood nicknames? ‘Cause you’ve got some that’re more embarrassing than _Weasel._ ” They were in the hall before Jon could hear any of the names she was pulling out and he felt the same yearning for siblings. He’d never seen older siblings, all the siblings he knew he knew when they were still children, not adults and the dynamic seemed more fun than annoying.

It was a minute before he realized he was alone with Sansa in her apartment. Apparently, it took her a minute as well because when she turned around she jumped when she realized that he was still hovering awkwardly near her door. _Nice one, Snow_ , Jon thought bitterly.

“Do you need a hand?” he asked, hoping to recover the situation. Her features relaxed slightly.

“No, thanks. It’s mostly clothes at this point. I guess I owe you on two fronts now, though.”

“No, no, it’s fin—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Do you drink?” Jon blinked at the jump in train of thought. “Alcohol, I mean. Do you drink alcohol?” she clarified, as if that was why he hadn’t immediately responded.

“Oh, yeah.” _Great, she’s going to think I’m an idiot._

“A couple of my friends are taking me out as a house warming tonight. Come with, I’ll buy for you, as a thank you,” she offered. He wanted to say yes, wanted to get to know the beautiful redhead who lived across the hall from him with the vocal siblings, but he didn’t know that drinking with her and her friends was really the best way to go about that.

“I’d love to, but I’ve got plans already.” This wasn’t untrue. He had a standing Saturday night poker game with Sam and the rest of the guys from the shop, but they would give him hell if they found out he chose them over drinks with a beautiful woman.

“Some other time then.” She turned back around to the box, but before Jon could move, she had spun back around and was walking towards him. “I’m Sansa, by the way.”

“Jon.”

“I figured. Thanks for the Raid. I won’t have to come bang on your door at two in the morning now.” Jon felt a flash of regret at giving her the Raid when she put it that way.

“No problem.”

“I’ll see you around?” Jon felt his neck flush at realizing he was probably overstaying his welcome.

“Yeah,” he said weakly before retreating to his own apartment as fast as he could without making it look like it was fleeing.

 

* * *

 

At poker that night, Jon made the mistake of telling Sam that someone moved into his old apartment in front of the other guys.

“She hot?” Edd asked, mouth full of pretzel.

“Is that all you think about?” Sam asked, scolding.

“Oi, I spent thirteen years of my life in an all boys’ school, deprived of the fairer sex. That’s thirteen years of my life I need to make up,” Edd defended himself. Jon was hoping Sam would jump back in and point out that, with the exception of Tormund, they had all spent at least part of their education at an all boys’ school, to keep the conversation from drifting back to him and Edd’s question. Sam didn’t pull out the tired argument though, and Tormund threw a pretzel at Jon to get him to answer the question.

“I suppose… she’s got red hair.” He gave a halfhearted answer. He didn’t want to admit that he found her beautiful, but he shared the wrong detail of her appearance.

“A redhead, eh?” _Shit_. “That means Snow’s already got his pecker pointed in her direction. We all know he’s got a thing for ‘em.” Tormund chose that moment to flip his own red-orange hair. Jon chucked a pretzel at him in response. “My cousin must’ve really been a good fuc—Ow!” Gilly had come in behind him and smacked him in the back of the head with an oven mitt.

“Don’t talk about your cousin that way. It’s disgusting.” Tormund rolled his eyes once he was out of Gilly’s line of sight. “You should get her a house warming gift, welcome her to the complex.”

“I did already,” Jon admitted. Gilly looked pleased. The guys looked nauseated. “It was a can of Raid.” Their expressions switched.

“A can of _Raid_? The bug killing stuff?” Gilly clarified. Jon nodded. “Why?”

“She came over at two am to have me kill the spider in the shower,” Jon explained. Now Sam was the one who looked upset.

“I lived there three years. Never saw a bug in the apartment.”

“No one’s lived there in three months though,” Gilly pointed out. Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Tormund was faster.

“Are we going to play poker or are we going to talk about Snow’s pecker?” Gilly hit him again with the oven mitt.

* * *

 

Sansa’s drinks with her friends must’ve ended around the same time as his poker game, because as he rounded the corner to the complex, he saw her coming from the other direction. He waved awkwardly, but when she didn’t wave back he wasn’t sure if she saw or if it was actually her, it could’ve been another redhead, but once they were closer he was that it was.

“Jon! Hi!” she squealed, now waving enthusiastically. _So it was just that she didn’t see me._ “How was your poker game? Win a lot of money?” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, no. I’m not very good at poker. It’s mostly an excuse to get together and talk.”

“Ahh. I see. Haven’t had to use the Raid yet. I’m hoping the spider was a one-time thing. And that it didn’t lay any eggs.” She shuttered at the thought. Jon almost offered to come over and use the Raid for her, but he knew better.

“My friend, Sam, he used to live in your place. He was in shock that there were bugs, so hopefully there won’t be more.” Sansa turned to him, and was impressively able to continue up the stairs. Jon didn’t think he would be that coordinated if he had any more than a handful of beers in him.

“Why’d he leave?”

“Moved into a house with his fiancée.”

“Ah.”

“Yep.” Jon couldn’t mask the bitter tone in his voice. It’d been months, but he still wasn’t thrilled at Sam moving out, at being left. Again. He could tell by the expression on her face and the change in the air between them that she could hear it. They stood facing their doors then, ready to say goodbye.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do that Sam would’ve done, let me know, yeah?” she offered, and Jon was genuinely surprised. He thought that she would just be the beautiful woman across the hall and nothing more.

“Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“Sure. Bye, Jon.” She waved and closed the door behind her. Jon stood staring at where she had been for a moment before entering his apartment.


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two months of Sansa living in her new apartment

Sansa was busy with her new job as a stager. She worked with a realtor to stage the way houses and apartments could look if it were being lived in. When she wasn’t designing or physically moving pieces into someplace, she was at flea markets and the like looking for pieces. The only time she really spent in her apartment was weeknights. On the weekends, if she wasn’t hunting for the perfect art deco mirror, she was out with her friends. She had previously been the only one in her group that didn’t live within walking distance of downtown, which meant she was usually the only one to skip out or leave early during their nights out. Since she now lived the closest to downtown, her friends expected her to make up all the time and drinks lost.

All of this meant that she didn’t get a chance to pay Jon back for the spider and the sofa, especially since, at first, every time they saw each other was when one was coming and the other was going. They seemed to keep opposite schedules. They generally either ran into each other on the stairs or the mail bank, and all of their conversations followed the same script.

“Hi.”

“Oh, hi.”

“How’re you?”

“Good. How’re you?”

“Good.”

The second half of the conversation evolved over the month that they would bump into each other. It started as:

“How’re you liking the new place?”

“Good. It’s good.”

“That’s good.”

And it moved to:

“Any fun plans?”

“Poker with the guys.”

“Ah, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Or:

“Any fun plans?”

“Drinks with the girls.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks.”

That was the extent of their conversations, until the last weekend of her first month in the apartment, when Margaery organized a girls’ weekend. Over the course of the month, Sansa had come to realize that she loved plants. She had filled her apartment with them, both the floral and the leafy green plants. She had a series of small potted plants on all of the available surface areas, but also a few hanging on some contraption that Gendry and Arya had rigged up. She loved how the green brightened the white walls she wasn’t allowed to paint. It was for the sake of her plants that, the Thursday before she was supposed to leave on the girls’ weekend, she found herself knocking on Jon’s door, spare key in hand.

“All right, so I know I keep asking favors of you,” Sansa greeted him once he opened his door. She watched surprise followed by amusement register on his face. “But I’m leaving tomorrow after work and I won’t be back until late Sunday night for a girls’ weekend. Could you water my plants while I’m away? Here’s my spare.” She handed him the key before he said anything. It was on a silver keychain with a little bird pendent so he didn’t get it confused with his own keys. “There’s a watering can under the sink. Just Friday and Saturday night.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

“Thank you so much! I owe you. I’m not sure what yet. You think of something and let me know when I get back.” Jon laughed and Sansa leveled him with a look. “I’m serious.”

“All right.” Sansa started to turn away, but then remembered the sticky note she’d written out.

“Here’s my number, in case something happens.”

“All right,” he repeated. Sansa briefly wondered if she had broken him, asking so many favors without repaying any.

“Thanks, Jon.” Sansa grinned at him and he slowly smiled in response.

While Sansa was on her girls’ weekend, she didn’t really expect to hear from Jon unless something happened, like he forgot to water them Saturday night because of his poker game. She didn’t expect him to narrate his watering of her plants through texts Friday night.

**Damn you have a lot of plants.**

_Hence needing someone to water them._

**It took two full watering cans to water all of them.**

_I know._

**You owe me big.**

_I know._

She passed the idea around her friends after texting him: what could she repay him with? None of her friends’ responses were all too helpful though. Margaery said to sleep with him as payment. Sansa had to point out that exchanging sex for favors was probably considered a form of prostitution. Mya suggested a case of beer, but Sansa didn’t think that equated to everything he’d done for her. Myranda thought she should do something cute and puny, like giving him a roll of LifeSavers. Sansa didn’t think it was appropriate for waking up at two in the morning and killing a spider, hauling her furniture, _and_ watering her plants. That may have been all right if he was just watering her plants. And if she didn’t have quite so many. Needless to say, she returned from her girls’ weekend no closer to having an idea of how to repay Jon.

 

* * *

 

The second month of the two of them being neighbors was slightly different. Sansa had no big favors to ask of Jon, though they both did small favors for each other, such as using the other’s spare key to close windows when the text would come in. _It’s started raining and I’ve left my windows open._ Sansa and Jon also started texting each other, not in a flirty way, but friendly. She would send similar texts that she would send to Robb or Margaery in complaint of something or another. She still hadn’t figured out how to repay him for the spider, the sofa, and the plants, but in them texting and being friendly, Sansa was trying to learn as much as she could about him so she could think of something. That wasn’t going well though. A lot of their conversations were her starting the conversation and him reacting to whatever she sent, until one Saturday night. He’d sent a picture of one of his poker buddies with some sort of flower crown woven into his hair.

 **Edd passed out. This is what happened** he’d sent. Sansa laughed.

_You lot are nicer than we are. When Myranda passed out first on the girls’ weekend, we dyed a strip of her hair._

**That’s a good idea if Tormund ever passes out first.**

_Which one is he again?_ Jon replied with a picture of a redheaded man, whose arm was slung around Jon’s shoulders.

**This jackass.**

_I think he would look good with a nice pink glitter beard._ She sent a picture from Google as an example.

**That’s brilliant. Too bad he’s always the last one standing.**

_He should meet my friend Margaery. She’s usually the last one standing._

**Of your friends?**

_No. In the bar._

**Damn.**

_Yup._

They texted a bit more, mostly trying to figure out the mechanics of giving Tormund a glitter beard. Did the glitter come in the dye or did it come separately? When did you add the glitter? Did you have to rinse it to get the dye to set properly? By the time Sansa went to bed, Jon had a detailed plan of how to give Tormund a glitter beard if he ever passed out first.

A little later that night, once Sansa was in bed and nearly asleep, Sansa got another text from Jon. That surprised her. They rarely texted late at night. She’d never texted him while in bed. Aside from the random weekends where one or both of them were out, they almost never texted past dark. It was as if their friendship wouldn’t survive the dark, and yet here he was, texting her at midnight.

 **Jon’s got a thing for redheads** the text read. Sansa wasn’t sure if that indicated his level of intoxication, which would be new, or if it indicated how tired she was.

_Sorry?_

**Jon. Your neighbor. Boy’s pecker points only toward redheads.** Realization dawned when Sansa remembered Jon once complaining that Tormund only knew one euphemism for penis.

_This is Tormund, isn’t it? Jon’s passed out and you’ve stolen his phone, haven’t you?_

**Aye. You’re a smart one.** Sansa couldn’t help her eye roll, but she also couldn’t help the slight grin at being called smart.

 _Thanks._ She paused, fingers hovering over the keypad. _If I’m so smart, as you’ve so astutely pointed out, can I give you a piece of advice?_ She threw in a couple bigger words to make her point.

**Aye, fiery lady.**

_Delete the texts and put Jon’s phone back._ She sat up a few minutes, waiting to see if he would listen, and when she didn’t get a response, she hoped that he had. The last thing she wanted was to ruin this friendship with Jon because his idiot friend stole his phone and texted her. That hardly seemed like a valid reason to destroy a perfectly good friendship.

Based on the fact that Jon never mentioned the late night text to Sansa, she guessed that Tormund listened to her. She was pleased but also curious. What had Tormund meant by Jon had a thing for redheads? Did Jon have a thing for her? Or was Tormund warning her that Jon could develop a thing for her, based on the fact that he apparently had a thing for redheads? She wasn’t sure which she preferred. She hadn’t really considered Jon in that way; she had kind of thought that she had blown that all to shit when her first two encounters with him involved her wet and in a towel, hiding from a spider, and her sweaty and dusty. After getting over the initial shock of his attractiveness, she’d accepted him as a friendly neighbor with no potential romantic interest. The texts from Tormund had her questioning that, except when she ran into him in the mail bank, she didn’t see anything flirty in their interaction.

“Hey. How was your poker night?” she asked, unlocking her box.

“Good. Won twenty bucks off Edd before he passed out. Tormund got thirty off me though, plus three shots.”

“Nice. Are shots what you bet with after you run out of money?”

“Nah. We have a thirty-dollar cap. If you loose thirty dollars, you start betting in shots so you don’t run out of money.”

“That almost sounds more dangerous.” Jon cocked his head, considering this.

“With Tormund, probably.” Sansa almost made a comment about that, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to open that up for discussion. “I’m headed out. See you around.”

“Bye,” Sansa waved, already writing off what Tormund had said as drunken babble from someone trying to take the piss out of Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last of the set up.


	4. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds out Ygritte is bringing someone to the wedding.

The invitation was mocking him, or more specifically, the _plus one_ next to his name was mocking him.

Gilly and Sam’s wedding RSVP deadline was two weeks away and he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t really have anyone he wanted to bring, who he thought might agree. He was fine going stag. He had been anticipating going stag, and knew that Sam and Gilly probably anticipated him attending alone. The _plus one_ was probably just a formality that they put on all the singles’ invitations. And yet, Edd had a date, Grenn had a date, and Pyp had a date. At the rate he was going, he and Tormund would be the only ones from their friend group going stag, and only one of them willingly. When Tormund got his invitation, addressed to _Tormund Giantsbane and plus one_ , he said he didn’t need the guest invite, as he planned on finding his date at the wedding, preferably one of the bridesmaids or groomsmen. He wasn’t choosey. That got him a lecture from Gilly, but Jon didn’t think that deterred him at all. Either way, Jon would probably be the only one leaving the wedding alone. He had two weeks to make his peace with that.

During the two weeks leading up to the RSVP deadline, Gilly kept trying to set Jon up. It had started has a sincere effort that Jon genuinely appreciated, but it quickly snowballed down hill. Every day he was presented with a new name of one of her friends or sisters.

“What about my friend Greyna? She’s single.”

“Gilly, I’m fine going stag.”

“Fralla?”

“No.”

“Hilla?”

“No.”

“Breya?”

“Gilly, I swear on the Seven…”

It wasn’t until the deadline was two days away that Sam invited him over for dinner and he knew something was up. Sam and Gilly had him over for dinner occasionally, usually once a month. He knew it was because they felt bad about him living alone and Sam moving out of their complex and in with Gilly. Jon thought that Gilly felt guilty; she thought she stole Sam from Jon, as he used to spend all of his time with him, but that time was all now spent with her. Jon didn’t see it that way, and he didn’t harbor any resentment towards Gilly, just a bitter feeling about being left, but she always acted like she was looking for atonement from Jon for something.

When he showed up at their place, he quickly realized what was going on, seeing as Gilly’s best friend opened the door.

“Jon! Haven’t seen you since the engagement announcement!” She yanked him into a hug and Jon felt the breath forced from his lungs.

“Yeah,” he forced out, praying to be released. At the engagement party, he and Val had stole a bottle of whiskey and snuck out to get drunk on the lawn because Jon was avoiding his ex and Val thought stealing alcohol and getting drunk sounded like more fun than sitting around, sipping champagne, and discussing wedding details. Sam was more irate than Gilly had been.

Sam and Gilly rescued Jon, ushering them into the dining room, where the table was already set and the food was ready. Typically when Jon joined them for dinner, they all drank a few beers and helped each other cook. They never ate with the fancy tablecloth or wine glasses. They—probably Gilly—had also rearranged chairs around the table. Instead of one on each of the four sides, there were two on each. Alarm bells went off. _Gilly’s up to something_.

The dinner was more formal than every other dinner he’d attended at Sam and Gilly’s, which was off-putting to say the least. At least most of the conversation focused on wedding details.

With every new wedding topic, Val caught Jon’s eye and made a face of irritation. Jon had to fight to keep his face straight. He was only half paying attention to the exact shade of linens though, because half his brain was focused on figuring out what Gilly was up to. He was sure it had something to do with Val, but he was really hoping it wasn’t the obvious choice.

“Sam, will you bring out the dessert?” Gilly asked between the dinner being cleared and finishing the bottle of wine. Sam shot Jon an apologetic look and Jon suddenly wanted to offer to help, to leave this situation. He felt like an animal being taken to the slaughter that _knows_ it’s being taken to the slaughter. Once Sam had left the room, both the women turned to face Jon and he felt his adrenaline spike. _Get out, get out, get out_ his body screamed.

“Jon,” Val started. _Fuck, this is going nowhere good._

“Val,” he mimicked.

“I think we should go to Gilly’s wedding together.” _Well, that’s not quite where I thought that was going_. He opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t really say no to her face. This wasn’t the same as Gilly, a third party, trying to set him up, with women he didn’t really know. This was Val, saying to his face, that she wants to go with him to the wedding.

 _Oh, wait. No. Not wants_ , Jon realized. _She doesn’t_ want _to go with me. She thinks we_ should _go together._ Instead of addressing Val’s statement, he turned on Gilly.

“Why are you so dead set on me having a date to for the wedding?” Gilly looked flustered. All of their other discussions on this topic took place over the phone and he never actually saw her reaction to his rejection of her friends and sisters. She was twisting a napkin and her eyes were looking anywhere but his. “Gilly.”

“Ygritte’s going,” Val blurted. Jon looked at her slowly, levelly.

“I knew that. She was at the engagement party,” he shrugged. He didn’t understand why Ygritte attending the wedding was supposed to be such a big deal for Val and Gilly. “I’ve made my peace with going stag.”

“She’s bringing someone,” Val added. Jon opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He hadn’t prepared himself for that. “Someone she’s dating—Mance.” Jon was up then, heading for the kitchen. Wine wasn’t strong enough for that news.

“Where’s your whiskey?”

“They told you then? The, ah, news?” Sam asked. The dessert had obviously been a ploy to get Sam out of the dining room so they could break the news to him gently. Jon answered him with a look. “Top of the fridge.” It wasn’t until he was pouring himself a glass that he realized Gilly and Val had followed him into the kitchen.

“If you go with someone, you won’t look…” Gilly trailed off, clearly unsure on how to describe how he’d look if he showed up stag.

“You won’t look like you’re still completely hung up on her,” Val finished. She always did put honesty before tactfulness. Jon sputtered.

“I’m _not_ sti—”

“You haven’t dated anyone since her. You broke up over two years ago.” Jon ignored that. He’d been on dates. It was just that none of them were successful.

“How would me going with Val make me look better than me going stag?” Val rolled her eyes at him and Jon felt his levels of irritation rising.

“If you show up alone, it looks like you’re hoping that she’s showing up alone, but that you’ll leave together. If you show up with someone, it implies that you’re not looking for anyone at the wedding,” Val explained as if he was incompetent.

“But if I show up with _you_ ,” Jon indicated to Val, “she’ll know we’re not dating.”

“No, but you’ll be doing me a favor. If I have a date, Tormund will only hit on me half the time.” Jon rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, but something Val said stuck in his head.

 _Favor. Favor. Could you do me a favor and kill the spider in my shower? Can you lend a hand? All right, so I know I keep asking favors of you but… You owe me big._ _I know._ It wouldn’t mean a damn thing if he showed up with Val. Plus, she was in the wedding party and he wouldn’t be with her half the time anyway. But someone else, that would make an impression. And someone owed him.

“All right, all right. I’ll get a date, but I’m not going with you. No offense.” Gilly hugged him and Val met his eyes over her best friend’s shoulder, questioning. He wasn’t going to explain though. For this to work the way he wanted it to, everyone had to believe it, including his best friends.

 

* * *

 

“Jon?” Sansa answered, obviously confused. He’d never knocked on her door or sought her out. Their tentative friendship was based on her starting everything. She answered the door in a large hoodie that went down to her thighs and made it look like she wasn’t wearing pants, which she may not have been. Jon had to rip his gaze away from her bare legs before she noticed.

“You still owe me for all those favors, yeah?” Sansa’s face broke into a smile and Jon prayed to the Seven that she would be all right with his plan.

“You’ve thought of something.”

“Will you go with me to my friends’ wedding?” If he hadn’t been watching her face so closely, he wouldn’t have seen the look of surprise that she quickly masked into a smile.

“Sure. Easy.”

“There’s something else though.” He wasn’t sure if it was the addition or the hesitancy in his voice that made her expression suddenly become apprehensive. “My ex-girlfriend is going to be there, with her new boyfriend.” Her expression softened, but that wasn’t what Jon meant when he said there was more. “Will you pretend to be my girlfriend at the wedding? Everyone thinks I’m still hung up on her and that I’m hoping to get back together with her at the wedding. Apparently the only way to disprove that is to show up with a date.” Sansa stared at him and he felt his body flush under her steady gaze. She looked like she was thinking about it. He wanted to point out that she owed him big, but he didn’t want to pressure her into it.

“No PDA beyond kissing?” Seven hells, Jon hadn’t even thought of that. He hadn’t thought of much of anything beyond asking her.

“Of course.”

“All right. When’s the wedding?”

“In two weeks.” Her eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything. “We’re going to have to figure out a story, and all of that…” he trailed off, trying to imply everything she would be agreeing to, giving her an option to back out.

“I’ll do it, Jon. I owe you.” He broke into a grin and suppressed her urge to hug her.

“Thanks, Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the rest of it written besides the last chapter, so I should be able to get the rest of it up by the end of the week or earlier.


	5. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa plans for the wedding

As soon as Sansa poured herself a glass of wine, she called Margaery. She needed Margaery’s strategist PR brain. Jon’s earnestness made her want to get this right. She didn’t want to do a half ass job and accidentally fuck things up for Jon. He’d done so much for her already, and they hadn’t known each other more than two months. She could do this one thing for him.

“So Jon just stopped by.”

“Oh?”

“He thought of something I can do to repay him.”

“Sansa, tell me the fucking story before I start making sex jokes about how you’re repaying him.” Sansa blushed. Margaery hated drawn out stories. She preferred everything blunt and to the point, the same way she was.

“Pretend to be his girlfriend at his friends’ wedding in two weeks.” Sansa filled the silence from the other end of the line by drinking her wine. She thought she could hear a pen tapping.

“I’ll be over in five minutes.”

True to form, Margaery was at her door five minutes later with her planner and a whiteboard. It was late on a Friday night, but Margaery still had her work clothes on. Sansa hadn’t bothered to put on pants after taking her work pants off at five. In fact, when she got home, she took off her work clothes and her bra, replacing everything with only a hoodie.

“All right. So you’re pretending to be his girlfriend at his friends’ wedding… for what purpose?”

“His ex will be there with her new boyfriend. He’s trying to prove he’s over her.”

“Is he?”

The question gave Sansa pause. _Was he?_ She replayed the brief conversation they’d had. She couldn’t recall that he’d actually said he was over her. He’d said that everyone thought he was still in love with her and hoping to get back with her at the wedding. The only way to prove he wasn’t was to _apparently_ bring a date. He’d never actually said he was over her.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Margaery’s expression morphed from focused to skeptical.

“Mhmm. All right. So. What have we got to work with?” Margaery sat across from her, notebook balanced on her lap and pen poised.

They spent two hours going over various details that Sansa and Jon would need to agree upon: how they met, how long they’d been dating, et cetera. Then there were the personal details they needed to learn about each other in two weeks, childhood stories, jobs, all of the relationships for the people at the wedding she would be expected to know. Sansa had thought of some of it: the relationship details mostly, and the relationships for the people at the wedding. She hadn’t considered the rest of it. She especially didn’t consider what Margaery said was the biggest part. The social media. To make it really believable, especially at a wedding where there would probably an Instagram hash tag for pictures, they needed some sort of social media presence. At the end of the two hours, Margaery presented her with a checklist of everything they needed to figure out before the wedding.

“And now for the fun part. What will you wear?” Margaery ditched the notebook and whiteboard.

“Shit.” Sansa scrambled for her closet, Margaery close behind her.

“What’re the wedding colors? What’ll he wear?”

“Shit if I know. The extent of my knowledge is that I’m going to pretend to be Jon’s girlfriend at a wedding because his ex will be there. That’s it. That’s all I know.” Margaery pulled a few of her dresses as options, but said to update her if any of her questions were answered.

After Margaery left, Sansa went over the lists again and decided to text Jon everything they would have to prepare. He didn’t respond, and Sansa wondered if he was rethinking this whole thing, because she definitely was. Margaery couldn’t hide the panic when Sansa told her the wedding was in two weeks. _Well, if nothing else, this will certainly be interesting._

The next morning, while drinking her coffee, Sansa shot a quick text to Jon.

_Does the radio silence mean I need to figure out a new way to repay you?_

She was expecting the silence to continue. He did look a little tipsy when he stopped by the night before, so she reasoned that he could be sleeping in. By the time she finished her coffee though, he responded.

**I’m in if you are.**

_I’m in. We have a list of stuff I got from my friend in PR on how to convincingly fake a relationship, so we might need to meet before the wedding, if that’s all right._

**Does today work?** Sansa thought of everything she really needed to get done, but she knew she’d be half-assing it if she was focused on this wedding thing.

_Sure. Whenever works for you._

**Five minutes?** Sansa looked down at her pajamas: underwear and a holey, transparent grey tank top.

 _Sure_. _Bring the invitation._

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

When she opened the door to Jon five minutes later, her hair was knotted out of her face, she was wearing pants and a different shirt, and had rid herself of her coffee breath. She was impressed with herself.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” He sounded barely awake, and looked it too. She wondered if she’d woken him up.

“I’ve coffee if you’d like.”

“Please.” Sansa gestured to the living room, for him to sit, before moving towards the kitchen. “The list from my friend is on the table. I reckon we should keep as close to the truth as we can with some of them.” She set the mug in front of him, keeping one for her, simply to have something to do with her hands.

“That’s good, because I’ve spoken of you to my friends, and they’ll know if we lie—about anything other than the relationship I mean.” Sansa wanted to ask _you’ve spoken of me to your friends_? But she realized that one, it would make her sound eager about him talking about her, and two, she knew that already. Tormund knew she was a redhead, and she was sure he shared the story about the spider in the shower because that was the type of story you share.

“So we met when I moved in and couldn’t kill the spider in my shower. Easy. How long’ll we’ve been together?”

“Two weeks, officially.” Sansa scoffed.

“Two weeks?”

“My friends know I’m not currently dating. I’ll say we’ve sort of been seeing each other and then we made it official.” Sansa nodded. That helped cross some other things off the list as irrelevant then. They wouldn’t need to know that much about each other if they’ve only been together for two weeks.

“We need to post a couple of things on social media over the next two weeks too. Margaery said it would be more convincing.” Jon looked at her, surprised.

“I hadn’t even thought of that.” They quickly added each other on the public forms of social media they had: Facebook and Instagram. No one would know if they had each other on Snap Chat. Jon hadn’t a single post on his Instagram.

“Let me see your phone?” Jon handed it to her without question, and Sansa sat closely next to him. She felt him watch over her shoulder as she opened the Instagram app on his phone, open the camera, and angle their faces into the frame.

“What’re yo—” Sansa cut him off with a kiss that she broke once the camera clicked. With a few quick taps, she put them in a black and white scale and typed a heart emoji underneath, before tagging herself and posting it to both Facebook and Instagram.

“There. That makes us look official.” She handed back his phone and moved to where she’d been sitting before, trying her damnedest to ignore how suddenly quiet he was, how suddenly interested in the phone he was. “Have you got the invitation?” He pulled it from his pocket, passing it to her wordlessly. “So I’d reckon the colors are red and white—scarlet and ivory or some such. What will you wear?”

“A suit?” Sansa almost laughed at his confusion.

“What color tie?”

“I’ve only got the one. It’s black.”

“Well, that’ll be easy enough. I’ll wear a black dress.” Sansa moved to return the invitation to him when the address caught her eye. “Wait—isn’t that near The Wall? The wedding’s that far north?” Suddenly, Jon looked as though he’d just realized that as well.

“It’s where they met. We’re to leave on Wednesday, a combined stag and hen party on Thursday, rehearsal dinner on Friday, wedding on Saturday, drive back on Sunday.” Sansa fought to hide her reaction—the surprise that this would not be one afternoon she would be pretending to be his girlfriend, but nearly a week. “I’m sorry—I forgot to tell you. If you don’t want to, or can’t take the time off work, I understand…”

“No, no it’s all right. I just didn’t realize.” Sansa held onto the invitation, studying it. “We’ll be sharing a room then? It says they’ve rented an entire inn.” Jon looked surprised again, and that was replaced with regret.

“Sansa, I didn’t think this through at all… I had a lot to drink last night, and I was irritated at Gilly and Val for trying to set me up, make me feel like I needed a date… You don’t have to do this. I’m asking too much. I’ll go stag. It’s fine.” He pushed his hands through his curls, leaning against the back of the sofa, his eyes turned toward the ceiling. He looked pained. Sansa felt something in her gut twist. She didn’t like seeing him in pain—she didn’t like seeing _anyone_ in pain—but especially when she could do something to reveal that pain. She was moving before she really thought about it, sitting next to him on the sofa.

“I can do this. I _want_ to do this, Jon. After everything you’ve done for me—”

“Killing a spider, moving some furniture, watering a few plants? That doesn’t equate to pretending to be in a relationship with me, to asking you to lie to my friends.” Jon had a stubborn set to his jaw, but she was stubborn too. She was a Stark.

“Well, this is how I want to repay you. So. What was our first date?”


	6. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the inn. Take a guess at how many beds are in the room.

Jon was exceedingly more anxious the two weeks leading up to the wedding than he was the two weeks leading up to the RSVP deadline. He didn’t think the pit of guilt he felt in his stomach loosened once. He couldn’t believe he’d asked Sansa to pretend to be his girlfriend—to lie. He couldn’t believe she’d said yes, that she wouldn’t let him back out. He couldn’t believe he was helping her bring her bags down to his car.

“You’re sure?” Jon asked again, standing with the driver’s door open while Sansa carefully laid her dress and his suit across the back seat. Even though he couldn’t see her, he felt her eye roll. This was not the first time he had asked over the last two weeks, and he could tell it quickly started to irritate her, though he needed to confirmation.

“Seven save me,” he heard her mutter before her head reappeared on the other side of the car. “Yes. I’m sure. Don’t ask me again.” With that she sat in the passenger’s seat and shut the door. Jon sighed before joining her. _If she’s in this mood, it’ll be a long four-hour car ride._

As soon as they were out of the city, though, Sansa pulled out a long list of some sort.

“I figured we could put the time to good use. ‘200 Questions to Get to Know Someone.’ I’ll start.” She skimmed the list for a moment. “Favorite drink?”

“Whiskey. Whiskey and Coke, whiskey and coffee, whiskey sour. Something with whiskey. Yours?”

“Lemon drop. Or Malibu and lemonade if they can’t make a lemon drop.” Jon made a point to try to remember that. He would no doubt be ordering drinks for her and he didn’t want to get her the wrong drink—that would likely blow their cover.

They went back and forth for nearly the full four hours, adding in any extra details they thought necessary. There were a few details Jon kept to himself though, that he knew he wouldn’t share this early in a relationship. How he and Ygritte broke up. The issues he had with being left. He was sure she wasn’t sharing her whole story either though. The deepest thing she shared was her irritation at her older brother and parents for never treating her like an adult, despite being twenty-three.

Jon had to fight the shock he felt at her age. He assumed she was younger than he was, but he didn’t think it was that much younger. He would be turning twenty-seven soon. He realized he was probably the same age as her older brother she spoke of, the one he had met. Jon knew three or four years weren’t an outrageous age gap, not near enough to cause scandal, but it was something he hadn’t thought of. Though to be fair, there was a lot he hadn’t thought of, such as the room situation. He assumed there would be one bed, and it would cause suspicion if they didn’t sleep in the same room. He hadn’t asked Sansa’s thoughts on it yet, but he doubted she’d say _oh yeah, let’s just sleep in the same bed_ to someone to a man she was barely friends with. He just hoped there was a sofa or armchair in the room for him to sleep on.

By the time they were close to the small town, he thought they knew each other fairly well. Jon realized that they may actually be able to pull this off and he wasn’t sure if he found that relieving or worrisome.

He’d hoped that by the time they pulled into the lot and saw all of his friends, the pit in his stomach would lessen, but instead it was worse.

“So that’s Sam, Gilly, and Tormund. They’re easy. That one’s Edd. The blonde woman is Val, right? And those two are Grenn and Pyp. I’m not sure which is which though,” Sansa narrated as they drove past the group standing under the awning of the inn.

“That’s all right. They’ll probably never be apart anyway.” Jon found a parking spot, but hesitated before turning the car off. He could feel Sansa’s eyes on him, but he was grateful that she didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying, readying. “Ready?” She nodded. She didn’t look anywhere near as nervous or as queasy as he did. She almost seemed to be enjoying this. “I’ll come back and grab the bags. Let’s just get checked in.”

Once they began walking towards his friends, Jon regretted his decision to leave the bags in the car. If he had them, he would have something to do with his hands, but here he was, not knowing if he should put a hand on her back, or try to hold her hand, or if that would make it look like they were trying too hard. Sansa must’ve sense all of that though, because suddenly she was reaching out and they were holding hands. It was a loose grip, fingers mixed together but they didn’t cling together. Their hands swung lazily between them as they approached.

“Snow! Sansa!” Tormund was the first to see them and bounded over to them. The rest of the group turned, watching. Everyone looked happy and excited, everyone except Val. She held a steady gaze on them and Jon had to remember not to shift awkwardly or look guilty because if anyone was going to figure them out, it would be Val. “See?” Tormund hollered, pointing to Sansa and Jon’s hands. “I told you Snow’s got a thing for redheads!” Jon smiled but he was still focused on Val. Val’s eyes weren’t on him anymore though; they were on Sansa. He realized in that moment that he had forgotten to warn Sansa that Val was smart, really smart, and had a lot of insight. And she _knew_ Jon, really well. She would know. But as Jon watched her, he saw her stern face soften and she looked back at him. _She believes this. She believes us._ He wondered what it was that convinced her, but Sansa letting go of his hand distracted him.

“Hi, you must be Gilly! Congratulations!” she was saying, moving forward to hug Gilly. She quickly made the rounds introducing herself and shaking hands. He was glad she knew what she was doing because he sure the hell didn’t.

“So. You and Sansa are actually dating?” Tormund stage whispered, dropping his heavy arm across Jon’s shoulders.

“Yeah, we are.” He hoped he sounded believable.

“So, I’m not allowed to hit on her then?”

“No, no you’re not.” Tormund pouted for about thirty seconds before sideling up to Val. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Have you all checked in already?” Jon asked.

“We’re the only ones. Once everyone else gets checked in, we thought we could get dinner in town. Does that work for you guys?” Jon glanced to Sansa, who was already nodding.

“I’ll go get the bags so we can check in.”

“I can help,” Sansa offered, following him back to the car. “Do you think they believed us?” she whispered once both of their heads were leaded into the backseat of the car.

“I think so. Tormund did, but Tormund’s an idiot. Val is going to be the hard one. She’s known me the longest. But I think something we did convinced her of something.” Sansa’s eyes lit on his briefly, a smirk playing on her mouth. She looked almost proud.

During the check in, Jon felt Val watching them, but Sansa kept up an impressive level of subtle PDA. She’d bump his shoulder with hers, lean into him, reach up and fix his hair gently. It was all very soft, and it did something to Jon. He couldn’t put a name on it, but it was a nice feeling, a warm feeling.

“So we’ll meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes? Does that work?” Sam asked, hand twisted with Gilly’s. They nodded. Sansa led Jon up to their room, which was on the same floor as Tormund’s, Pyp’s, Grenn’s, and Edd’s. Jon braced himself when Sansa opened the door, garment bags slung over her shoulder. He didn’t want to watch how this played out, watch the realization dawn as it had with every new part of this stupid plan he had.

The room was small, but not cramped. There was a queen size bed, a couple chairs and a table near the window. A small electric fireplace. A bench at the foot of the bed. A wardrobe and an attached bathroom. Just the one bed. No sofa. And the chairs weren’t armchairs—they were hard backed desk chairs. Sansa moved immediately to hang the garment bags in the wardrobe. Jon didn’t think she registered the room. He stepped in slowly, setting the bags on the nearest table.

“I’m going to use the bathroom and freshen up before we head to dinner,” she commented, still not acknowledging the lone bed. Jon sank into one of the chairs, wondering if he’d be able to sleep in it tonight. It really wouldn’t be that different from all the times he slept in class at school. _I’ll tell Tormund Sansa and I have had a fight, and ask if I can bunk with him. He’ll probably have someone else’s bed to sleep in anyway._ “All right, ready?” Sansa had reappeared, her hair changed and some part of her outfit altered, though Jon couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “What? What is it?” She put her hand on her hip, waiting for him to answer. Jon opened his mouth to point out the bed, but that wasn’t what came out.

“Nothing. You just look nice, is all.” Her face brightened. He led her to the hall, where she used one hand to close the door behind them and the other to link the two of them. He wasn’t sure if it was Sansa or the four-hour car ride that made him weak.

 

* * *

 

“So, Sansa, how did you and Jon meet?” Val asked after the plates had been cleared and they sipped their drinks. Sansa’s hand grazed his knee as she leaned forward to tell the true story, but Tormund jumped in.

“Sansa’s Snow’s neighbor and she showed up on Snow’s doorstep at two in the bloody morning, soaked and in naught but a towel, asking him to kill the spider in her shower.” Jon colored at Tormund’s description of the story and he saw Sansa’s face pinked as well. Val pressed her lips together, appraising the two and Tormund’s story.

“To be fair, that spider was mutated, wasn’t it, Jon?” Sansa held up a hand, indicating the size of the spider.

“It was definitely large,” he admitted. Val was appeased for the moment, and the conversation shifted elsewhere. Jon felt that damned pit in his stomach unclench briefly, until they were all back at the inn are retiring to their rooms and he remembered the queen size bed.

In the room, Sansa disappeared into the bathroom again, with her bag this time, and Jon was left to fret in the room. He took the opportunity to change while there was a shut door between them, to get himself to stop staring at the bed. He had enough foresight to pack some form of pajamas, despite the fact that he typically slept in his boxers. He didn’t want to make Sansa uncomfortable. He wore a t-shirt and sweatpants that he typically used for working out.

“Bathroom’s all yours.” Sansa breezed back in, now wearing shorts and a tank top, hair all done up in some sort of loop. He pulled his toothbrush and paste out of his bag, hoping that while he was doing his nightly routine she would notice the bed and he wouldn’t have to start that conversation.

She didn’t appear in the doorway though, and he didn’t hear the door. He shut the door to pee, washed his hands, and went back in the room, still without her saying anything. In the room, Sansa was folded onto one of the chairs, typing on her phone.

“Just some work emails,” she commented. Jon sat across from her, opening his own phone and spent the time she did responding to emails pretending he had something to do that wasn’t panicking over the bed. When Sansa set her phone down, Jon followed suit. “I’m going to go to bed. You can stay up if you’d like though. The light doesn’t bother me.” She started for the bed, but turned before she reached the foot, looking as though she had just thought of something. _Here we go_ , Jon thought. “Do you have a preference?” she asked. Jon frowned. _Preference for…?_

“Sorry?” he choked out.

“Preference for which side of the bed you sleep on.”

“Oh, no, Sansa, we don’t— I don’t expect…” he started, trying to formulate a coherent sentence. “I can sleep in the chair,” he offered at last. Her expression shifted so quickly that it took Jon aback. Her arms across and a brow arched. She had that fire he saw when she told off her siblings.

“Oh, you’re going to sleep in that, are you?” Jon looked away in response. “Don’t be an idiot. Which side of the bed do you like to sleep on?”

“The one closest to the door,” he muttered. Sansa gave him a look that he could tell meant _now was that so hard?_

“Ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling back the sheets on the side she was to sleep on. “ _I can sleep in the chair_ ,” she mimicked, her voice going low and Jon found himself smirking. “Men.” He could hear the eye roll in her voice.

He stayed up a bit longer, mostly only so he wasn’t going to bed the same time she was. He distracted himself on his phone until he was fighting his eyelids. Pulling back the covers, seeing the curve of Sansa’s spine, seeing the handful of freckles on her back, seeing Sansa’s red hair on the white pillow woke him back up though. Jon rubbed his hands over his face, through his hair, blocking the image from his mind as he slid in beside her.

He hadn’t slept, just slept, in the same bed as someone for years. He thought the last woman might have been Ygritte, which didn’t help. He braced himself on the edge of the bed, far enough away that he wouldn’t accidentally touch her if he rolled over, but he couldn’t escape the heat that radiated off her body, warming the rest of the bed, nor could he escape the quiet sound of her breathing, forcing him to be aware of the fact that there was a second person in the room, in the bed. It was all he could do to compel his thoughts far away from redheaded woman as he drifted into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be able to put the last half up between today and tomorrow.


	7. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bachelor/Bachelorette party.

Sansa stretched as she woke, brain still enough asleep that she thought she was still in her own bed. It took a few seconds for her to realize she was in a hotel in the north, and a few more to realize that there should be a second body in the bed. She bolted up, eyes going first to the chair to see if that stubborn man had actually slept in it, and second to the floor as that was the other option she saw. He was in neither. Sansa turned toward the door, thinking he may have left for breakfast already, and that was how she saw him. He was, in fact, sleeping in the bed with her, curled so tightly on the edge of the bed that she couldn’t reach him from her side. Sansa rolled her eyes, reaching over to Jon and tugging gently on his arm, not enough to wake him, just enough to roll him over and closer to the middle of the bed. The last thing she wanted to deal with was him rolling off.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Sansa sang once Jon woke up, an hour after she had. He grunted in response. “Hey, wait, come here.” Sansa scrunched down on the bed next to him, pointing her phone at their faces. He was squinting, looked barely awake, but Sansa thought it was kind of cute. “There,” she declared, snapping the picture. “I’m captioning it _look who’s finally awake_.” Jon groaned, looking as though he wanted to pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep. “Nuh huh, none of that. Let’s go get some coffee.” Jon grumbled but got out of bed anyway. Sansa slid into a pair of slippers. “I’m borrowing your hoodie,” she told him, yanking it out of the bag. “Can’t imagine the comments I’d get from Tormund if I showed up to breakfast with my nipples on display,” she muttered, mostly only to see Jon’s reaction. She allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk when she saw his neck flush pink.

“Ah, I thought you would be down soon. Saw your Instagram. Very cute,” Gilly greeted them. Sansa thanked her and watched Jon nearly bump into a table on his way to the coffee pot.

Breakfast was much the same as dinner had been, and Sansa was careful to keep an eye on Val. No one else questioned their relationship, but the way that Val studied them told Sansa that Val didn’t trust her. Which was why, after breakfast, she made a point to excuse herself.

“I’ve got to shower and all that,” she said, moving to stand behind Jon’s chair. When Sansa was sure Val was probably the only one still watching, she leaned down, hands caressing Jon’s chest and shoulders, lips near his ear. “Care to join me?” she murmured just loud enough that people trying to listen could hear. She nipped at his earlobe too, for good measure. Part of her felt bad for doing this to Jon, as she could tell it made him uncomfortable, but it wasn’t as if she could text him _I’m going ask you to come shower with me because I think Val’s still suspicious. I may try to turn you on in front of them to prove a point. Heads up_. That would raise eyebrows. When Jon didn’t move and Tormund started to take an interest, Sansa took Jon’s hand and led him to the elevators.

“Sorry,” Sansa said once the doors closed. “Thought that would add to the image of a new couple. You could probably go back down in twenty minutes if you want to.” Sansa expected Jon to be thankful or irritated at being pulled away from his friends, but he scoffed instead.

“Twenty minutes?” Sansa’s eyebrow lifted.

“All right. Ten.” Jon laughed now, though his face was still tinted pink.

“An hour.” Now Sansa was the one turning pink and having to break eye contact. She thought she heard him chuckle again, but she ignored it. This was something they should be doing in front of people, Val especially. It would do them no good if they were the only two hearing it.

 

* * *

 

“So, it’s a combined stag and hen party?” Sansa called to Jon, who was reading on the bed while she applied her makeup in the bathroom.

“Yeah. They had separate, family friendly ones last weekend, Gilly with her sisters, and Sam with his brothers. Tonight’s is for friends—mostly an excuse to all get drunk together.”

“And where are we going?”

“There’s a few pubs nearby and a dance club that we’ll probably end up at if Gilly gets her way. Once someone gets too far gone—money’s on Edd—we’ll come back here and those still standing will probably all take over one room and hang out.” Sansa nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She knew not to drink enough to do something stupid, like flirt with anyone but Jon, but she knew that she had to drink enough not to cause suspicion. She had the feeling that Val would be watching their every move, despite the stunt after breakfast. The only one impressed by that was Tormund.

In the elevator, Sansa turned to Jon to fix the way his jacket fell against his shirt. She leaned close, thinking to look up at him through her lashes only to realize that she was taller than him, especially in her short heels. _Huh. Didn’t notice that before._

“You can touch me, you know,” she murmured, reaching behind to adjust his collar. She felt him stiffen and his breathing hitch. She swallowed the laugh that bubbled up, thinking _I’m having way too much fun with this_. She was giddy with control was what it was. She’d been in relationships before, but those were different. She never felt comfortable enough to start anything, generally because she would be expected to reciprocate later. It wasn’t _oh, you’ve got me so turned on, I can’t keep my hands off you._ It was _oh, you’ve got me so turned on, go down on me in the stall?_ With Jon, she wasn’t expected to follow through on any of it. “In front of your friends. It would be suspicious if I’m the one starting all the PDA. Hold my hand, put your hand on my back. Don’t just stand there like a statue.” He nodded, still looking slightly shell-shocked from her lead in.

Jon took her advice as they waited outside the first pub. Val had taken Gilly shopping and they were to meet in the parking lot, but they were running a little late. Sansa was cold, kept shivering and blowing on her hands.

“Come ‘ere,” Jon muttered, pulling Sansa into his chest, wrapping his jacket around as much of her as he could, and locking his arms against her back. After a few moments, she stopped shivering. “Better?”

“Mhmm.”

Val and Gilly showed up minutes later, Gilly hinting about her purchases to Sam, about how he’d have to wait until after the wedding to see them. Val took in the sight of Sansa wrapped up in Jon, but Sansa didn’t see anything in her expression change.

“I’ll order up a round of shots yeah? Gilly, what’ll you have?” Tormund asked before the entire group was even inside the pub.

“Grasshoppers!” Tormund made a vaguely disgusted face, but went to order the shot anyway. Sansa moved with the rest of the group to find a table, waiting while Pyp, Grenn, and Edd pushed the tables together, and taking the chair next to Jon, sitting close enough that their knees touched. Jon put his hand on her leg, just above her knee, and she smiled softly at him, hoping Val was watching.

 

* * *

 

The night quickly turned hazy for Sansa. At the first pub they did grasshopper shots and she drank lemon drops. At the second pub they did buttery nipples and she drank vodka lemonades. At the dance club the guys were finally drunk enough to go to Tormund ordered everyone Mind Erasers, and she drank something called Fuck Me Sideways, which was made from lemon vodka and fruit juices. At that point she was good and drunk, but so was Jon and Seven hells was Jon more fun when he was drunk.

“Come dance with me!” she yelled in his ear, shedding her jacket—leaving her only in the thin tank top—and pulling him from the booth the rest of the guys were occupying.

“I don’t dance!”

“You do with me!” Sansa successfully removed him from the booth and onto the dance floor. He had lost his jacket too, leaving him only in his button up, though she’d undone the top few buttons.

She spent song after song with her back against Jon, dancing with his hands on her hips, or arms around her waist. She leaned back into him, enjoying the feeling of his body against hers. They danced until his hair was flopped forward with sweat, her hair was curling from the heat, his shirt was drenched, and her straps were falling down. They danced until Sansa’s knees felt weak and her legs like jelly, but some small part of Sansa’s brain that wasn’t fully intoxicated wondered if that wasn’t entirely due to the dancing, but to the man she was dancing with.

She thought it must’ve been hours of them dancing, their bodies rubbing, brushing, grinding against each other before Edd threw up in the stalls and it was time to head back to the inn. She was sad that they had to stop, and her body felt cold even before they were outside. Sansa kept as close as she could to Jon on their walk back, though none of it relieved the feeling that started when they were dancing.

Tormund deposited Edd in his room and everyone else filed into Tormund’s to continue drinking, all sat around on the floor with the bottles Tormund had stashed at some point.

“We should play truth or dare!” Tormund roared excitedly, joining everyone else on the floor. Sansa vaguely noted how he seemed to be fairing far better than everyone else. She thought she and Jon were probably at similar levels of drunk, though she thought Grenn and Pyp were farther gone than she was. Gilly and Sam were smart enough to alternate with water. Val was only slightly drunker than Tormund.

“No!” chorused back at him, and Sansa was grateful.

“No, no, let’s. I think it’s a good idea.” Sansa wasn’t so drunk that she didn’t notice the glanced Val gave her and Jon when she sided with Tormund.

“Great! I’ll start. Val, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“If you had to sleep with anyone here, who would you sleep with?”

“Jon,” she answered instantly. Sansa felt a pull in her chest, but she thought it was just after burn from the sip of vodka she’d just taken. Tormund raised his brows but surprisingly didn’t comment. Sansa braced herself, assuming Val would be coming for one of them, but she asked Gilly a question about wedding nerves, and Gilly asked a question of either Pyp or Grenn, who asked something of Sam. It was Sam who pointed the game in their direction.

“Jon, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Sansa was drunkenly proud of him for not answering truth.

“Twerk.”

“Fuck that,” Jon muttered and took a long pull from the whiskey bottle instead. “Tormund, truth or dare?” They went around again before someone noticed that Sansa had yet to be asked.

“Sansa, truth or dare?” Val asked.

“Dare.”

“Make out with Jon.”

Sansa considered it rather tame and was even eager to do it. They had kissed yes, but it was all closed mouth, quick pecks. She looked questioningly at Jon and when he didn’t say no, she went for it, moving completely into his lap, locking her fingers in his hair, and kissing him deeply and enthusiastically. Jon responded to her touch, her tongue quickly. His hands braced themselves on her back and his tongue, though it tasted like whiskey, was warm and strong against her own. She felt the same feeling she had when they were dancing, and didn’t want it to stop.

“Ahem,” was what broke them apart, Gilly and Sam looking awkward.

“Sorry,” Sansa muttered, wiping her mouth though not removing herself from Jon’s lap.

 

They went around again, but after the first few questions, Sansa lost focus.

“Sansa?” she heard someone calling her name. “Let’s get you to bed.” Before Sansa knew it, she was in the air and being carried, then being put in a bed.

“No, no. I’ve still got my clothes on,” she tried to point out. “Can’t sleep with my clothes on,” she giggled. She heard a sigh. Still lying on the bed, she started taking her pants off, rolling the leggings down and flinging them with a flick of her ankle. She didn’t bother with shorts. She had her tank top half over her head before she was caught. “Help?” she called. She heard a symphony of sounds before she felt hands helping her.

“Sansa, you haven’t got a bra on,” he muttered. _Jon_ , she remembered. The voice belonged to Jon.

“I don’t sleep in a bra.”

“That wasn’t my point.” The top was off and she was able to peer blearily at him, with his unbuttoned white shirt and sweat tussled hair. His pants were already off. _He looks messy—like sex messy_ , she thought dreamily. “Here. Put this on.” He held something up to her head and she obeyed, sliding her arms and head through before surging up from the bed to kiss him.

Jon didn’t respond as quickly as he had before, but all she had to do was flick her tongue against his lips for him to come alive. His hands quickly burned against her back under the shirt as he kissed her back, tongue and lips and teeth all making her body blaze. She was pushing his shirt off, yanking his undershirt over his head only to hold him closer, kiss him deeper.

They fell back on the bed, Jon on top of her, and Sansa could feel him pressed against her pelvis. His hands roamed her sides, her hands scorched up his back to his hair and back down to the waistband of his boxers. When their pelvises lined up and he rolled against her, Sansa moaned.

“Jon,” she murmured, nipping at his ear, his chest. She was moving her lips back up to his, but she was suddenly cold. “Jon?” Sansa sat up, turning towards where Jon stood across the room.

“We can’t, Sansa. We’re both drunk… and we’re… we can’t,” he muttered, and it stung. Sansa blamed the prickling she felt behind her eyes on the number of drinks she’d had and on nothing else.

“You’re right, of course,” she intoned. “Good night, Jon.” With that, she flopped down on the bed, yanking the covers to her shoulders and turning so her back was to Jon. Turning so that he couldn’t see the tear that streaked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never spent so long researching drinks. Fuck Me Sideways is a real drink you can order if you were curious.


	8. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsal dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's dress in this chapter is the one Sophie Turner wore to the 2016 Vanity Fair Oscars party if you'd like a visual image.

Jon collapsed into the chair behind him, one hand going through his hair and the other adjusting his still hard cock. He could still feel her warm, soft skin against him, and if he closed his eyes he saw the sparkle in her eyes she had in the elevator.

Seven hells, did he regret his choice. But as much as he wanted to, and Seven save him did he, he didn’t want her waking up and regretting what they’d done, regretting him. Jon lifted a hand to rub his eyes but the scent of her perfume or her shampoo— _something_ of hers—lingered on him. _Fuck, I’ll shower. That’ll calm me down. Sober me up. Get me to stop smelling like her._

His shower was cold, brutally, tortuously cold and it did its job. His head was cleared, mostly, his skin now smelled like generic hotel body wash, and his cock was soft. Staring back at the bed, Jon thought that the chair looked like the better option, especially considering how awkward it was to sleep next to her yesterday, without everything that just happened between them, but he knew the shit she’d give tomorrow morning if she woke up to find him sleeping at the table. Steeling himself, he slid in next to her, more cautious than he had been yesterday too not touch her, but acutely more aware of where her body was and the heat rolling off her. _She’s my neighbor. She’s just agreed to this because I helped her out a few times. It was the drinks, and the dancing. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything, Snow. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t get your hopes up,_ he thought, repeating that until he believed it and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Jon woke up to a cold bed. He opened his eyes, thinking Sansa was either at the table or in the bathroom, but the chairs were empty and the door was open.

“Sansa?”

No response.

More awake than he typically was without coffee, he got out of bed, looking for something to tell him where she went. A note on the nightstand, her bag all packed and gone, but there was no note and her bag was still there. His heart steadied slightly, at the idea that he wouldn’t have to face Ygritte and Mance alone, prove Val right, he hadn’t been left again. He reckoned that she must’ve gone down to get breakfast. He slid into a pair of shoes and headed for the elevator, hoping that this meant they could avoid an awkward conversation about last night.

“Jon, you’re up early!” Sam called, waving him over to the table. Sansa was there, curled in a chair and wrapped in his hoodie with a mug balanced against her knee. He went over to kiss her, but she turned so he got her cheek.

“I didn’t hear you get up.”

“No, you were out.” Her voice sounded the same as it had, but there was something off. Something in her eyes—they were dull. There was no sparkle. And they weren’t the normal warm blue he’d known for months. It was a hard blue, a cold blue. Ice blue. It chilled him. “Coffee?” She offered him her mug. He took it, mostly as an excuse to watch her face, see if it changed.

“Thanks.”

“Jon, I thought you’d ought to know,” Gilly started, coming to whisper between him and Sansa. “Ygritte and Mance will be here this afternoon. Just so you’re aware.” He muttered a thanks and risked a glance at Sansa again. She was laughing at something Tormund had said, and if he couldn’t see her eyes he would have thought that everything was fine, but he knew that what almost happened last night changed something between them.

 

* * *

 

“Sansa, wait.” He caught the elevator just in time, his hand nearly getting caught in the door. Nothing in her expression gave away what happened last night, aside from the coldness in her eyes. “I’m sorry about last night. I…” _I can’t tell you how much I wanted to._ “We were both too drunk for anything to happen,” he said instead. It was true, but that wasn’t all.

“You’re right. It was stupid. A mistake. I’ll make sure not to drink as much tonight.” He opened his mouth to say something—ask if it wasn’t just the alcohol and the dancing and if it was actually _him_ she wanted, but she spoke first. “It won’t happen again.” The elevator doors open and Sansa stalked out and Jon followed slowly.

“I’m going for a run,” he muttered to the shut bathroom door, changing into running clothes as the shower started.

Jon forwent music on his run, as his thoughts were loud enough as it was. _I forgot we were pretending. I let myself believe the lie. How stupid are you, Snow? You created the lie, how could you fall for it?_ he screamed at himself, scolding and chastising his own stupidity. That was the warm feeling he felt when waiting to check in, when Sansa was touching his arm, his hair. It was affection, desire, fondness that went beyond their friendship.

 _It was her. Sansa_ , he realized. _She_ was the reason he fell for his own lie. She played the part of the girlfriend so well he forgot that she wasn’t actually his girlfriend. They were pretending, to prove a point against Val and Ygritte. He had to remember that they were pretending. It wasn’t real. It had never been real. Every glance, every touch, every kiss was all for show, and the rest of them would be too.

* * *

 

His return to the inn was timed poorly, as a redhead stood at the check-in counter, but it wasn’t the redhead he spent his run thinking about. If the bell overhead hadn’t chimed, he would have waited in the parking lot until he thought she was gone, but she was already turning to face him.

“Jon. Hi.” She looked mildly surprised to see him, as though she’d forgotten he was invited, or as though she didn’t think he would actually attend.

“Ygritte.” He wished this wasn’t the first time she saw him, all sweaty and flushed from the run. He wished it had happened at the dinner tonight, with Sansa on his arm.

“Val said you brought a date?” He found her skepticism offensive.

“Yeah, my girlfriend. Sansa.”

“Where is she, then? She doesn’t share the same enthusiasm for running?” Jon didn’t know if Sansa enjoyed running or not, and that realization sent a brief flare of panic through him.

“She wanted to shower.”

“Ah.”

“I guess I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Mhmm.”

 

* * *

 

           

“Ygritte and Mance will be here. I ran into her early at the check in desk. She didn’t believe you existed.” Sansa chuckled and it sent a flicker of hope in him, that everything between them wasn’t broken.

“Oh, I definitely exist.” _Seven hells, did she exist_. Sansa was in some type of blue dress that had the middle section cut out. He couldn’t believe it when she stepped out of the bathroom. Had she actually been his girlfriend he would have insisted that they skip the dinner and spend the evening in the room, but she was not his girlfriend and he settled with _you look nice._ He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something stupid in agreement. “Anything I need to know about Ygritte before I meet her?” Sansa asked just as they reached the floor.

“Yeah. The guy she’s with, Mance? She cheated on me with him.” Sansa turned sharply towards him, but the doors dinged open and he was leading her out, leaving no room for questions and no room for him to realize that was the first time said that out loud.

“Sansa! Look at you! That dress is beautiful!” Gilly gushed, hugging both of them as the entered the hall. Sansa exchanged compliments with Gilly and Jon spoke with Sam until the next set of guests arrived and the couple’s attention had to be turned elsewhere. Before they stepped away though, Gilly caught his arm. “Ygritte and Mance are already here,” she whispered. Jon nodded.

“Where?” Sansa asked, suddenly interested. He glanced at her, at her reaction. _Is she so mad at me that she would tell Ygritte of the ruse?_ There was a glint in her eye; it was not the same sparkle he had seen before, but they were no longer the cold blue he had been seeing all day.

“Over there. In the black and grey dress. She’s got red hair. He’s in a grey shirt, has shaggy hair.” Jon couldn’t help but look for the couple as well, his eyes traveling over everyone else’s heads until he saw them standing in the back, talking to Val. _Seven save me_. He could only guess what Val was talking to them about.

“Ah. I see them.” Sansa’s tone gave nothing away, but the grip she held on his arm tightened. It was all he could do to not lean into it. Gilly turned away then, and he and Sansa hovered near the wall for a moment, at a loss of where to go. “We should go say hello,” Sansa suggested, her voice warmer than it had been all day. He turned toward her in shock.

“I was more so thinking we avoid them at all costs.” Sansa laughed.

“That’s hardly mature. If we approach them, we control the situation.” Jon winced. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not wanting to admit the other half of the reason he didn’t want to approach them right this second.

“Val’s talking to them right now.” Sansa arched a brow. “After I found out about her and Mance… after we broke up… I slept with Val.” Sansa didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “And then again, at the engagement party a year ago after we drank a bottle of whiskey. It was the first time I’d seen Ygritte since then.” Jon pointedly looked anywhere that was not the two women in the room he’d slept with and the one he wanted to. He tried not to react when Sansa stepped closer to him, her face close to his.

“Did you need me here to prove you’re over Ygritte or to stop you from sleeping with Val again?” she murmured in his ear. Jon hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t realized the potential implication.

“Maybe both?” Her laughter tickled his ear.

“Once Val leaves we should go over.” Jon agreed to that.

In the time between them arriving and Val leaving Ygritte and Mance, Sansa acted much the same as she had the first night they were at the inn. Her touches were all subtle and gentle, but they were abundant. Jon had to keep reminding himself that they were not a real couple and this was all for show. Her touches meant nothing.

Jon and Sansa had sat for the dinner to be served before they had a chance to talk to Ygritte, but she and Mance made a point to stop by before going to their own table.

“Jon, you look nice.” Jon had to remind himself that this meant less than Sansa’s hand on his knee did.

“See, I told you black was a good color on you,” Sansa laughed, as though she had picked out the outfit for him, or he had argued with her about it. “I’m Sansa, by the way. Jon’s girlfriend.” She stood to shake their hands, leaning forward just enough that it was clear the cut open sides of her dress was held by naught but tape or magic. Jon looked just in time to see Mance’s eyes dart away from Sansa’s chest. Jon thought he could have killed him if Ygritte didn’t have the same look Jon felt on his own face. “You must be Ygritte and Mance. Jon’s told me so much about you.” Ygritte’s murderous expression softened for a moment before the edge of Sansa’s statement sunk in. Jon was impressed with what Sansa was doing. She was being perfectly pleasant and polite, and yet it was irritating the Seven hells out of Ygritte.

“Well, we should find our table,” Ygritte said to Mance, clearly done with this conversation. Sansa murmured something in agreement and Ygritte had to push Mance away. Jon didn’t really understand what had just happened, but it had been amusing to watch.

“That wasn’t so awful, was it?”

“No, I guess not.” _It’s because you were here though._ Sansa patted his leg, and he found himself leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you,” he breathed in her ear.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking wine and Sansa taunting Ygritte and Mance every chance she got. Jon would have asked her to stop, consider if she wasn’t taking it too far if he wasn’t relishing in every touch and caress she granted him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's chapter will explain her behavior.


	9. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gilly's wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's dress is inspired by one Sophie Turner wore to the 2015 SAG Awards in LA.

Sansa woke up the morning of the wedding in a different position than she had been every other morning. Instead of lying on her side, facing the window, she was lying the other direction on her stomach, with her arm flung wide. It was only after a moment of being awake that she realized her hand had settled on Jon’s chest. She watched it rise and fall with each of his breaths before registering that she should probably remove it. And yet, she left it there. Instead, she moved her eyes from her own hand to Jon’s face. He was still sound asleep of course, but there was still that worry line between his brows—as if not even sleep was relaxing for him.

She sighed, her fingers tracing a light line of his sternum, knowing it wouldn’t wake him as he slept like the dead.

She knew that what she did with Ygritte wasn’t enough of an apology for the way she acted towards him yesterday, but it was a start. She was still embarrassed by her childish behavior. She acted so cold and hateful just because he did the right, honorable thing in refusing her. It was her fault for taking it personally, for turning it into something it wasn’t. The alcohol, past insecurities, and anxieties brought it about but she took it out on Jon. It wasn’t fair to him. He couldn’t have known that he was the first person she’d been excited about sleeping with. He couldn’t know about her past sexual experiences—how disappointing they’d been. Even drunk, she knew Jon would be different, better than them somehow. Except he rejected her and in that moment she felt like she’d only ever be good enough for stupid fuckboys like her exes.

She knew now that she’d had time to calm down and sober up that wasn’t what Jon was implying when he told her no. He was just being a decent human being. She’d have to make it up to him today. She just had to remind herself that this was all pretend and none of it meant anything. After the wedding was over they would go back to being neighbors and Sansa had to be all right with that.

In the several mornings Sansa had spent with Jon, she realized that he generally woke up around the same time. A little before she guessed he would wake up, she sneaked down to the hall to prepare Jon a plate and a coffee.

“Jon’s not coming down?” Tormund asked, filling his plate beside her. He had double the amount of food, despite the fact that he was filling only one stomach.

“Thought we’d have breakfast in bed.” Tormund let out a bawdy laugh.

“Knew you’d be a good match for Snow. Put a little fire in him.” Sansa glanced at him doubtfully, but didn’t comment. “Have fun,” he winked.

In the room, she set everything on the nightstand, bringing only a mug of coffee for herself back into the bed. She sat near where Jon’s knees were and watched him.

“Seven hells!” he gasped when he woke up and saw her watching him. It was at this point that she realized that might have been an odd way to start an apology.

“Oh, sorry. I’ve brought breakfast up for us. Thought we could have it in bed.” The apprehension that settled on his face softened, but it wasn’t the same as before the other night. That was her fault. She caused this wall between them with her childish sulking. She settled the tray between them on the bed, waiting until he’d eaten a bit to start her apology in earnest.

“Thanks for this, Sansa.” His eyes met hers for only a moment before they returned to his food.

“Jon, I wanted to apologize for yesterday… I was being stupid and immature,” she started.

“Sansa, it’s all right.”

“No, I was awful to you yesterday. I was hung over and sulking and feeling rejected.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

“No, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” He opened his mouth but she cut him off with a look.

“Fine. I forgive you.” Jon’s face returned to what it had been before their drunken mishap. The feeling she’d had in her gut since yesterday morning finally dissipated. She allowed herself for the first time to breath deeply.

“Friends?” she offered.

“Yeah. Friends,” Jon replied after a beat that Sansa didn’t want to analyze.

* * *

 

The wedding was a formal affair, for which Sansa had bought herself a new dress. It wasn’t anywhere near as revealing as the blue dress she’s worn that put her under boobs on display. This one was subtler. It was black, with a modest neckline but cut out back and small triangles on her abdomen. On one side, the scalloped hem grazed the floor and the other exposed her leg from the thigh down. Margaery had exclaimed when she’d come out of the dressing room in it, stating it was the perfect dress to make an ex jealous at a wedding, though she still wasn’t sure if that was her purpose or not. Even after seeing Jon and Ygritte interact, she still couldn’t tell if Jon was still in love with her.

 _Not that you care_ , she reminded herself. Jon could be in love with whomever he wanted, though Ygritte probably wasn’t the healthiest choice. Which was a perfecting acceptable thing for a friend to think.

“Sansa, are you almost ready?” Jon asked through the bathroom door. She opened the door in response and forced the massive grin down that threatened to overtake her face at Jon’s reaction. She knew he liked her dress yesterday, even though all he said was _you look nice_ , but he appeared to be unable to formulate even those words today.

“Thanks,” she said anyway. “Let’s go.” Sansa hooked her arm around his and allowed him to lead her down to the wedding.

The ceremony was simple, but lovely. Gilly looked beautiful in a very light green dress and her hair woven through with all sorts of plants and flowers. Sansa thought she looked beautiful, but the look on Sam’s face when she appeared at the end of the aisle made her heart stop. He looked at her like she was the sun, moon, and stars wrapped into one and presented to him.

The ceremony made her think of her own imagined wedding, for the first time since she was a young teenager. She used to have everything planned out for it—she probably still had the binders somewhere in her parents’ house. She scrapped all of those plans watching Sam and Gilly’s wedding, though. She would trade every elaborate detail she had pored over at thirteen for a groom that looked at her the way Sam looked at Gilly.

Sansa held Jon’s hand throughout the ceremony and the migration to the reception, even though there was no one around on the way back to the hall. She told herself it was just in case someone came upon them.

 

* * *

 

The dinner was more fun than Sansa thought it would be—Gilly and Sam had sat them with Pyp, Grenn, and Edd, plus their dates, and Tormund. Sansa thought the other dates weren’t quite expecting the dinner conversation to be such a ribald affair, but Sansa knew not to take offense to Tormund’s barbs and jeers. She was even able to dish it back a couple of times, much to the delight of the other men at the table. She felt Jon’s hand either on her back or her leg every time she made a quip back. She wasn’t sure what it meant for Jon, if it was a warning or encouragement, but Sansa took it as the latter. She even found herself throwing jibes at Tormund after he’d directed one at Jon, jumping in and defending him. She wasn’t sure if Jon was offended in her saving him, and had she been with any of her exes, she would know better but the thought didn’t even cross her mind with Jon.

The speeches were much more amusing with Tormund in company as well, as they were all meant to be family appropriate—Sam was from a rather conservative family—but Tormund would fill in the parts of the stories the siblings delivering the speeches implied with ellipses. Tormund had made his speech the other night, drunkenly at the pub, and it involved a lot of thinly veiled innuendos—so thinly veiled, in fact, Sansa wasn’t sure if they could be technically considered innuendoes. He kept up his commentary through the first dances as well, though the subject had shifted from stories of Sam and Gilly to weighing his options as to who to try to take home at the end of the night. Sansa offered her opinion—his right hand—and Tormund told Jon that she was a keeper. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the comment that made her flush.

“Let’s dance,” Jon suggested as soon as the dance floor was opened, mere seconds after Tormund’s comment that obviously made Jon uncomfortable as well.

“Thought you didn’t dance,” she reminded, smirking.

“Thought I did with you?” She smiled in response. “I’m sorry about Tormund.”

“It’s all right. You’ve met my sister. I think they’d get on.”

“Well, you seem to hold your own against him.”

“I’ve had loads of practice.”

The dancing they did at the wedding was much different than what they had done at the club. This allowed for conversation, eye contact, and space between them. It kept Sansa from feeling that pull she had the other night, though that also could have been because she was sticking with wine tonight. She didn’t want to get as drunk as she had the other night. She told herself it was because this was a wedding and she didn’t want to embarrass herself, but she knew that it had to do with Jon as well. She wanted there to be an option for something to happen at the end of the night. She wouldn’t admit that to herself though.

“May I cut in?” Tormund asked after they’d danced for some time, the most polite Sansa had heard him yet. Sansa obliged him, albeit hesitantly. “I’ve actually come with ulterior motives,” he admitted.

“I should’ve known.”

“Beware my cousin.”

“Your cousin? Who’s…?”

“Ygritte. I know you’ve got your point to make with Jon…” he started and for a second Sansa stopped breathing. _He knows?_ He, _out of everyone, knows? How in the Seven hells…_ “What with her having cheated on him and all, but she’s fiery, too, mind ya. Ya push her too far and she’ll push back.” Sansa breathed again. _He doesn’t know_.

“All right. So that was your ulterior motive? Warn me about Ygritte?”

“Nah, that was my cover. I really just wanted to dance with ya. See if I could piss off Snow. Look at him,” he laughed, directing her attention to where Jon sat with the rest of their table, looking mildly put out. “Best get you back to him. He’s pretty when he pouts and all, but it’s better when he’s happy.”

“What’d Tormund want?”

“To make you jealous.”

“That jackass!” Jon turned, as if to yell at or scold Tormund, but Sansa distracted him with a hand on his cheek and a smirk.

“What, did he succeed?” she laughed. She ignored the fluttering she felt when Jon turned red in response.

 

* * *

 

Sansa had excused herself to the bathroom after a few more glasses of wine and the cake was served. She was just adjusting her strapless bra in the mirror, tipsy enough to not care that some of the family members might not find that appropriate, when another red head appeared next to her in the mirror. _Ygritte._ Sansa offered her a polite smile, and moved to exit the washroom. Ygritte’s comment stopped her, though.

“Hope you’re enjoying his tongue. I was quite hoping to let him have another taste tonight, but I guess that’s out of the question, isn’t it?” She sighed, leaning her hip against the counter and watching Sansa’s reflection in the mirror. Sansa didn’t allow her the satisfaction of reacting. “I do miss it—the sex I mean. His tongue, especially. I know Val does too, but I guess it’s yours. For now.” Ygritte started to say something else, but Sansa walked out, unable to listen anymore.

As soon as she was out of the restroom, she regretted her decision, wishing she could stay and compose herself before going back to the reception. She knew her face was red, partially in anger at what Ygritte had said about Jon, about how she’d reduced him to no more than a sex toy, how she’d implied that she’d cheat on Mance with Jon, how she’d implied that, were Sansa not there, Jon would just fall back into her lap. But it was also what she’d said about his tongue that had her flushed. Sansa wanted to know what Ygritte meant by that, about his tongue. She’d made out with him and while she thought he was a good kisser, she didn’t think he was that much better than any other guy she’d kissed. _Unless… she was talking about the tongue being used in a different way…_ Sansa realized. She knew about oral sex, but she’d never experienced it. She’d mostly heard it described in allusions by Margaery and Myranda. Sansa was never that compelled to try it, mostly because she didn’t really want to reciprocate it, but she wanted to know what it was that had Ygritte and Val wanting more.

Sansa wanted to ask Jon what Ygritte had meant, but when faced with him she instead took a rather large swallow of wine and dragged him back to the dance floor.

 

* * *

 

After the bouquet was tossed, the garter was shot across the room, and all of the relatives left, Sansa led Jon to the elevator, accompanied by hoots from Tormund. She waited until they were safely enclosed in the room to voice her proposition.

“I ran into Ygritte in the bathroom,” she started, slowly removing her shoes. Jon turned to face her. He was undoing his tie and she wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to do it. “She said she hoped I was enjoying your tongue.” Even if she couldn’t have seen Jon’s face, she would’ve been able to tell the shade of crimson he turned. “I was wondering what she meant by that?” she asked innocently, not telling Jon the rest of the conversation.

“I… She… Well… I, em…” he stammered. He was still scarlet with embarrassment but he managed a small, self-indulgent smile. “Favorite position of mine,” he offered at last.

“Of _yours_?” He nodded sheepishly. Sansa sat with her shoes dangling in one hand, trying to figure out how to phrase her next question. “Was it Ygritte’s favorite as well, then?” He looked at her quizzically. “She said she missed it.”

“I dunno if it was her favorite, but she certainly enjoyed it.”

“What’s it like?” she blurted, feelings suddenly much younger than twenty-three. Jon stared at her in shock and it was her turn to color scarlet. Jon opened his mouth, but Sansa spoke first. “Will you show me?”


	10. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows directly after previous chapter (it's smut if you didn't guess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is the first time I've written smut so please forgive me)

“Will you show me?” Sansa asked again, this time more hesitantly as he hadn’t yet responded. “I mean, we are dating after all, as far as anyone’s aware, at least. And everyone else thinks we’ve been having sex every chance we’ve gotten.” Jon’s words were still stuck in his throat, preventing him from speaking. “I’m not drunk this time, either,” she muttered, pointedly. Jon felt himself smirking against his better judgment.

Sansa took that as an answer, dropping her shoes and stepping up to him, until their chests were touching. She started undoing his tie that he hadn’t finished, her face no longer red or timid, but full of the mischievous glimmer that he’d seen in the elevator when she told him he could touch her, so he did just that.

While she pulled the tie slowly from his neck, and began unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled at the ribbons on her dress that tied over her shoulders. Had Sansa been another girl, in another situation, he may have done so with his teeth, but this hardly called for that. The slow, intimacy of their undressing each other stirred Jon though, more than he expected it would. Both with Ygritte and Val everything was always rushed, hurried, and passionate, done on bathroom counters and sofas more often than in beds. He hadn’t even gotten her dress farther down than her shoulders, Seven hells, they hadn’t even kissed yet, but he was already hard and straining against his pants.

Jon was shrugging out of his shirt when Sansa pressed her lips against his. He fought to rid himself of his shirt so he could put his hands on her. Her hands were already under his undershirt, stroking pathways up and down his spine. She pushed herself closer, her breasts pressed into his chest. He moved to kiss down her neck, her dress cascading down. She stepped out of it and began pulling his shirt up, desperate for them to be equally naked as she was only in her bra and underwear now. He shucked his pants off, equally desperate to feel more of her against him. Jon let his hands snake down her hips, settling on the backs of her thighs before lifting.

“Oh!” she gasped at being hoisted into the air. The sound reverberated from his mouth straight down to his cock. He walked them to the bed and fell back so that she was on top of him. She sat back, settling down on his cock and stared at him for a moment. Jon would be, should have been squirming at the steady way her eyes traced his features, but he wasn’t, because it was Sansa. He found himself enjoying it, and when she smiled, apparently pleased with what she saw, his heart started racing.

Jon pulled her back down to him, but quickly found that Sansa got as much pleasure from touching him as he did from touching her. While he ran his hands up and down her back, her sides, her gloriously long legs, she covered his body with caresses from both her fingertips and her lips. Each time she touched his arms, his chest, his stomach, his hips he burned and he was coming done with no more than feeling her through the fabric of both of their underwear and her simple touch.

When he couldn’t take it anymore he unsnapped her bra and hauled her higher so that he could reach her breasts with his mouth, taking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers mimicked his tongue with the other one. He thought that focusing on her would calm him down but the moans she made did the opposite. Quicker than he thought he would be, he was rolling her over and sliding down the bed, taking her underwear with him.

Jon pressed hot, open-mouth kisses to her ankle, working his way up her perfect legs, mouthing at her thighs, until he was at her apex. He chastely kissed just above it, daring his eyes to dart up to her face. She was raised up on her elbows, beautiful red hair spilled everywhere, watching him with half-lidded eyes.

Jon kept his eyes trained on her as he lowered his head and pressed the flat of his tongue slowly against her. The moan she let out was the most beautiful sound Jon thought he would ever hear. Eager to hear more, he continued, maintaining a slow, steady pace against her clit, hoping to draw her pleasure out.

When her moans became more consistent, filling his ears, he pulled back her hood and circled the whole of her clit with his tongue.

“S-seven hells, Jon,” she panted, hooking a leg behind him and drawing him closer. Her fingers wove through his hair and Jon moaned into her.

He alternated sucking and whirling the tip of his tongue against the top of her clit, where she was the most sensitive when he felt her thighs tense and her stomach start to quiver. He picked up his pace, assuming she was close, but she pulled his head away. Before he could ask her what was wrong, or if he missed it, she was kissing him again, despite the shine on his lips left from her, and her hand was ghosting over his boxers.

“You’ve got a condom?” Her fingers found their way into his boxers and his breath stuttered as they wrapped around him.

“Sansa, we don’t… I can…” He tried to formulate an objection but she was kissing his neck and her hand was sliding up and down his cock and he could feel her wetness still and taste her still and he was nodding.

She slid out from under him to fetch it from his wallet. Unabashed, he watched her naked form cross the room, the long lines of her body uninterrupted by clothes. His hand was around his cock before he realized it, he was so enraptured by her.

He laid her back down, his mouth returning to the meeting of her thighs, working lightly as he guided a finger in. Sansa let her knees fall to the side, encouraging his second finger as he slowly built up a rhythm. What felt like seconds later, she was gasping and pulling him up by his arms. He lay back next to her rolling the condom on, and felt his cock jerk when she threw a leg over him, straddling him.

“Is this all right?” Jon nodded slowly, taken with her form above him. She slid herself down steadily and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. She moved slowly, her hands braced on his chest and her hair falling down her back. Jon thought he could have come at the sight alone, nonetheless inside her.

Once she had her rhythm, Jon slowly pushed himself up so that they were chest to chest, her hard nipples brushing against his chest, and he was able to kiss her again, one hand bracing them on the bed and the other pushing through the silk of her hair.

He was kissing her collarbone when she moved her hips in a circle instead of the up-down she had been doing, causing his cock to reach a new spot inside her. She moaned into his ear and he clutched her tighter.

Her pace was excruciatingly slow, but Jon didn’t mind because he wanted to be inside her, to touch her, to hold her as long as possible.

When Sansa moved again, she was pushing him back down and following, so that she was pressed, hips to torso, against him. With the next thrust, he felt her wetness on his pelvis.

“O-oh,” she whimpered, doing it again. Sansa’s hips lost their rhythm, so yearning for that friction again. Jon’s hands found themselves on her hips and he was thrusting up into her, copying the pace she’d set.

“ _Jon_.”

He clung to her tighter, as her movements became jerky and her walls constricted, stealing the resolve from him until he was feverishly chasing her orgasm with his own. He came with a whimpered cry that sounded like her name.

Sansa chastely kissed his sweat soaked forehead before sliding off and straight into the bathroom.

Jon closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath before discarding the condom and waiting for the bathroom to be open. He didn’t allow himself to think about what happened, or what it would mean, not yet. He wanted to bask in the afterglow.

When Sansa came out, Jon was torn between allowing himself to look the body he’d just spent such time loving and giving her privacy to pull on clothes. He made a compromise with himself, permitting himself to look at her legs and nothing more.

“Bathroom’s open,” she informed him, as if he didn’t know. As if this were every other night they’d spent in the inn.

She was already in bed when he came back out, the lamp on her side off. Awkwardly, he climbed in next to her, just in his boxers—it was far too hot in the room for anything more, turning his back to hers. Jon was just trying to conjure something to think of that would keep away the feelings of regret when he felt the bed shift.

“Seven hells, are you always this quiet after sex?” Sansa muttered. She pulled on his arm, turning him over. Before he realized what was happening, he was cuddling her to his chest, the length of her fitted snuggly against the length of him.

“No,” he muttered. Jon felt more so heard her giggle, her stomach vibrating with it. He resisted the urge to pull her closer.

“Must’ve worn yourself out, all that tongue work. G’night Jon,” she whispered, squeezing herself closer. With her hair under his nose, and his arms wrapped around her waist, Jon quickly fell asleep without overthinking who he was holding and why.

 

* * *

 

Jon was surprised when he woke with Sansa still in his arms. He was further surprised when she was perfectly pleasant in the morning, acting the same as every other. She laughed and chatted as they packed, and the four-hour car ride back to the apartments was not entirely dissimilar from the ride to the wedding, only without the questions being so direct.

There was a moment on the drive, Sansa was laughing at something he’d said, her feet up on his dash, a song he liked was on the radio, and he thought for a moment that they could be something, something beyond this weekend. Maybe they would get back to the apartment and he could ask her on a real date. They could be more than just pretend.

That all came crashing down once they reached the floor of their apartments.

“I’ll see you around?” Sansa leaned in to kiss him once on the cheek. He opened his mouth, the fantasy he’d envisioned in the car still fresh. “Thanks for the great weekend, Jon,” she waved before opening her door, shoving her bags inside, sparing him one last smile, and shutting it behind her.

_You stupid idiot, Snow. The weekend was all she agreed to. How could you’ve let yourself get your hopes up? Even after you told yourself not to. How dense can you be, falling for the lie? Falling for her?_


	11. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya have sisterly bonding time

In the days that turned to weeks, Sansa let her and Jon fall back into the pattern of their friendship from before the weekend trip. They would text each other occasionally throughout the day—never at night—and they only saw each other occasionally in the mail bank. Their face to face conversations regressed to what they had been the first month she lived in the building—mostly just _hello_ and _how’re you_? It was her fault, she knew, that they were suddenly so awkward, but she couldn’t admit the reason as to why, not even to herself.

It was nearly a month after they’d returned from the wedding when Sansa had the dream.

_A dark head between her thighs, scruff of a beard rasping against her, large, warm hands tight on her hips, a tongue keeping steady pace against her, grey eyes hungrily watching her._

She awoke with her underwear wet and the sheets twisted in a sort of mound beneath her that she was pushing against. She blushed, both at the state of herself and the fact she was dreaming about him, about his tongue. Just the thought of it made her ache with want. Sansa tried to think of something else to calm her down, but nothing stopped the craving for him.

Recalling the details of the dream, she slid her fingers into her underwear, trying to set the pace, the pressure she felt in the dream. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was his tongue stroking her closer and closer, not her own finger. It was her pretending it was him, remembering what it was like to have his tongue in her that brought about her orgasm. She bit her lip from crying out his name.

Sansa pulled her hand out, sated for the moment, but felt disappointed instead of fully satisfied. The orgasm relieved the yearning, but she knew it wasn’t enough. None of them had been. Her fingers couldn’t do what Jon had done. For the first time, she’d experienced an orgasm brought on by something other than her own fingers and now they paled in comparison to what she knew she could have.

That was one of the reasons everything was suddenly so awkward with Jon. Every time she saw him she thought of that night and she feel that pull she knew was desire, lust. But something else came with that.

Growing up everyone told her that her first time would, and should, be special. She’d feel an emotional connection to that person and it would change their relationship. All the clichés most girls heard growing up. Sansa’s first time came and went but she didn’t feel any of what she thought she would. After multiple encounters, Sansa thought that maybe she was told that just to keep her from having sex too soon, but now she knew better. It was because every other time had been something resembling a transaction where Sansa didn’t benefit, other than being saved the pleas of whoever she was dating. There was nothing special or emotional about it.

With Jon, it was different. It had been special, and not just because she’d actually came. It was something more than that. Sansa didn’t know what to do with that, especially since it was most likely one-ended. She doubted Jon felt the same as she had. It was only because she was so inexperienced—or poorly experienced—that she felt what she did. Jon was experienced and orgasms didn’t have the same effect they apparently had on her.

Sansa flung her arm over her face, knowing she was thinking too much. _I need another perspective,_ she thought. She hadn’t told anyone what happened with Jon, and she hadn’t really planned on it, but given that her orgasms where currently shit, she thought someone else might have some insight.

Her instinct was to call Margaery, but she knew what Margaery would say. _Well, if you’re already friends, why not just be friends with benefits. That’s the next logical step. Especially if he’s that good._ No, that wasn’t what she needed to hear. She needed an honest opinion, someone who would tell her if she was being stupid, so after her shower, she called Arya.

 

* * *

 

“Wanna make burritos, get drunk, and tell me how stupid I’m being?” Sansa asked when her sister answered.

“I’ll bring the vodka.”

 

* * *

 

Arya showed up just as Sansa was starting the meat for the burritos, her canvas bag that served as a purse full of vodka and mixers.

“All right, what’d ya do?”

“Nuh huh, I need a few in me before we talk about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Can you start on those while I finish this?” Sansa indicated generally to the counter and what she had set out. Arya moved to help without a moment of disagreement and Sansa knew it would be different if they were at the Stark’s.

Arya was hyper focused on fairness. It took Sansa years to realize the reason Arya threw a grand fit whenever tasked with a household chore was because one of her other siblings would be equally capable of doing it, except they were all boys. She would do something with no complaint if the chores were all dealt out fairly—cleaning her room, fine, vacuuming if each of the Starks home got a room of vacuum. She’d load the dishwasher if Bran was asked to unload it, or vice versa. Sansa admired her for it, though was glad she wasn’t the one fighting that battle. She was more of one to suffer in silence, which was why Arya wouldn’t fully understand what Sansa was going to need her advice about.

“All right, so what’s this all about?” Arya asked, once the dishes had been cleaned and they were both well into their second drink.

“Jon.”

“The man across the hall? The one you’re dating?” _Shit,_ Sansa realized, _I never told Arya it was as a favor, for the wedding. She’s going to skin me alive._

“I’m not actually dating him…” she started, wincing at the flash of hurt that crossed her younger sister’s face.

“Is it an on-again-off-again thing? Because if it is, I’d rather just know the end result.”

“No, no, it’s not that. We were never dating. We were pretending to be, to make his ex jealous, I think, at the wedding we went to.” Arya looked mildly incredulous. “Anyway, we erm, sort of hooked up?” Sansa offered, taking a large drink and not meeting Arya’s eyes.

“How do you sort of hook up?” Sansa sighed.

“We did. We slept together.”

“And now you’re feeling regret because you slept with a neighbor?” Arya guessed.

“Erm, no. Do… do you remember all of those talks Mum gave us when we were younger? About sex,” Sansa added when Arya looked blank.

“Mum’s sex talk with me was where it goes and use two forms of birth control.”

“That was it?!” Arya nodded, looking both confused and irritated at again being treated differently than her siblings. “Mine were different. She went on and on about it being at the right time with the right person, because of how it changes things, how emotional of an experience it is…” Arya was rolling her eyes before she’d even finished.

“Glad I missed that one.”

“I thought it was just to keep me from having sex too young, until I slept with Jon. It _did_ change things. And it was emotional, even though we’re just friends.”

“What’s so different about Jon from the others you’ve slept with?” This was the part she’d been dreading telling Arya, the part her sister would no doubt struggle to understand, so she took a rather overly large swallow of her vodka lemonade.

“I came with him.” Arya had chosen that moment to take a drink of her own cherry vodka 7UP, which she promptly snorted out, looking aghast.

“You hadn’t before?!” she screeched. “I shoulda been the one to have the talk with you. Sex 101: How to Get a Proper Orgasm When Sleeping with a Man,” she muttered darkly.

This was why Sansa had both known Arya was the one to go to with this, but also dreaded it. Her fixation on fairness extended to the bedroom. She’d never let a man orgasm without getting one of her own. Sansa was sure if a man didn’t know what he was doing, Arya would teach him instead of placating him. Sansa only wished she had been able to do it, but every time she tried with a previous man she’d blush and worry about offending him. When she explained this to Arya, her sister said that she’d rather offend a man once than starve every woman he slept with from a proper orgasm. When she put it that way, Sansa felt almost selfish for never taking directive.

“All right, so this Jon fellow knows his way around a clit—” _Seven hells, did he._ “—but why are you so worked up about it?”

“I want more of it.”

“But you don’t know how to tell him. And you’ve most likely been avoiding him since you’ve gotten back, haven’t you? Which was what, a month ago? Why? Just because it’s awkward?”

“No, it’s more than that. I was, think I might be, actually interested in him? But he doesn’t want that. He was just looking for someone to rub in the face of his ex. I don’t know how to be friends with him anymore. Mum was right, sex screwed everything up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. She might hear you.”

Their conversation drifted away, focused more on family and the other siblings. Sansa felt better having just told someone what she had experience with Jon, and how she felt about it. She was right in discussing it with Arya, though. Her sister didn’t give her the pitying look all of her friends would have, but instead looked annoyed at both her sister and every man she’d slept with. She still wasn’t sure what to do about Jon, and Arya had called her out about her behavior, but didn’t offer any remedy. Sansa drank more, hoping the alcohol would help her create a plan.

“Oh!” Arya snapped her fingers, having suddenly thought of something. “Tell me more about Jon.” They were near the end of the bottle of vodka at this point.

“What about him?” Sansa was blushing, and given the amount she drank, she was able to admit that it had to do with thinking about Jon.

“Well, I’d only met him the once, but he seemed a ten bloody times better than the rest of your boyfriends.” She glared at Arya. “Oh, don’t even. They were terrible and you know it. They didn’t give you orgasms!” she screeched.

“Don’t make me regret telling you that.” Arya cackled. “He is different, though,” Sansa continued quietly. “He’s sweet, and a little shy, I think.” She smiled softly, thinking of the gentle way he touched her, and the way he looked at her when she was above him, as though he couldn’t believe she existed, and that he was holding her. “A little broken, too.” She remembered the haunted look in his eye when he saw Ygritte, the almost masked hurt the day she was cold to him. “His ex cheated on him.”

“The one that was at the wedding?”

“One and the same.”

“Ah, no wonder he needed someone with him.” Sansa nodded. “What about after? How was he?” Sansa recalled his obvious awkwardness after, his surprise at her pulling him against herself to sleep.

“He was nice.”

“Nice? That’s it? Just _nice_?” Sansa shrugged.

“He was surprised when I wanted to cuddle.”

“But he did?”

“I don’t think he let go until we woke up the next morning,” Sansa admitted. Arya nodded, appearing to have come to a conclusion.

“I’ve decided what you should do.”

“Have you now?”

“You should tell him.” Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but paused, thinking she had heard something in the hallway. She had a wild guess at what it was, but she was desperately hoping that she was wrong, and that Arya hadn’t had the same thought. The Cheshire grin that broke over her sister’s face told her that she, in fact, had. Arya was leaping across the room before Sansa could set her drink down and run after her.

“Arya, don’t you fucking dare!” The door was swinging open and Sansa had managed to wrap an arm around her sister, to pull her back from the door, but they were caught. Still in the hall, watching them with surprised grey eyes, was Jon.


	12. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're idiots and don't talk about things until they're forced to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to point out that polite Sansa=hiding emotions in this chapter

Jon’s fantasies he had indulged on the car ride back from the wedding reminded him why he hated daydreaming. He’d allow himself to, and now the woman he daydreamed about had all but disappeared from his life. She would still text him occasionally, and bump into him in the building, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want things to go back to the way they had been. He couldn’t tell her that though. He couldn’t bear to face her gentle rejection.

His friends knew something was going on—he’d been quiet and broody recently, which was different than how he seemed at the wedding. At first, they had assumed it was just from being away from Sansa on a Saturday night, so they urged him to bring her. He would make excuses about her being busy with work, especially after having to take time off for the wedding, but the farther away from the wedding they were, the less sense the excuse made. He hadn’t told them they were playing pretend yet, mostly because he didn’t want it to be over. He thought if he never told them they weren’t actually dating, he could contrive scenarios where they could do a squeal performance, masquerading as a couple. Especially if that was all he would ever get.

It was Tormund, surprisingly, who asked if there was something going on between the two of them, some fight or something. Jon had left the table between rounds to piss and Tormund cornered him in the hall on his way back.

“You’ve got that look again. Like the one you had after Ygritte. And Val.” Jon’s head shot up.

“How’d you know about Val?”

“She told me, the night of the stag and hen party, after you lot all went to bed. She was pissing drunk and pissed off. She’s not a fan of this new girl.” Jon scowled, not sure how to take that. He was offended, for Sansa’s sake, but also smug that their ruse had worked, because if Val felt that way, Ygritte did as well.

“Her name’s Sansa,” he said pointedly instead. Tormund chuckled.

“Aye, I’m aware. I also know she’s a right bit better for you than either of those two.” Jon closed his eyes at this, wishing to escape the conversation. All it was doing was making him ache for Sansa’s hand on his arm, her laugh as she joked with Tormund. “What’s going on between you two? A fight?” Jon glanced down the hallway, where Gilly was hovering. Tormund followed Jon’s eyes and pushed them through the master bedroom, to the balcony there. Jon took a drink of the beer Tormund had brought out with him, not caring that it had been Tormund’s or that it was the strong, bitter beer he drank.

“I don’t think you can call it that.” Jon took another drink, hoping it was mask the bitterness in his voice.

“Did you break up?”

“Can’t have done. We were never together,” Jon admitted, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the railing. He couldn’t believe he was telling them the truth, couldn’t believe he was telling _Tormund_ the truth. He couldn’t believe it was Tormund who saw it, and not Gilly or Sam. Tormund looked confused, studying Jon.

“No… No.” Jon rolled his eyes at Tormund’s stubbornness. It made him think of Sansa, and her telling him _don’t be an idiot_ when he put up a fuss about the bed. He missed her calling him an idiot.

“It was all pretend, to shut up Gilly and Val about my going stag. Plus, it was easier to see Ygritte and Mance together with her there.” Tormund was shaking his head, refusing to accept the truth. “She’s just a good actress.”

“No, no. Nobody’s that good of an actress. That wasn’t all fake.” Jon sighed, thumping his head against the brick wall. He really didn’t want to rehash everything about her, not while he was still harboring that fantasy somewhere deep inside himself.

“Yes, Tormund, it was,” he said slowly, definitively, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

“Well, it obviously wasn’t only pretend for you.” Jon shot him a look, hating him for putting it so obviously, so bluntly, calling him out so casually. His face betrayed him though, and Tormund could tell he was right. “And it certainly wasn’t pretend for her.”

“What’d you mean?” Jon thought he’d hear Tormund out, if only to entertain the idea.

“The way she looked at you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! She was pretending that we were in love! Of course she looked at me like that!”

“You can’t fake a look like that,” Tormund told him quietly. Jon knew he wouldn’t win this argument, so he finished the beer and strode back through the house to the kitchen, where he filled a glass of whiskey and played half-assed games of poker while really just drowning the hope that he might see Sansa on his way up.

Jon couldn’t get Tormund’s voice out of his head the whole walk home, hearing him say over and over _the way she looked at you_. He saw her eyes in his head, the bright blue that was always so soft, the way she appraised him the night they slept together, and how it caused his heart to hammer. But then he saw the guarded way she’d looked at him when she kissed his cheek and said _see you around._ His head throbbed at the two contradictory sets of eyes, and by the time he got to his door he was irritated, almost angry, at the way she ended the weekend. _I deserve more, better, an explanation, at least_. He was planning his speech he’d give her; he’d go in, have some water, and go see if she was up. He wanted to do it tonight, before all of his courage left him in the morning.

_I’ll knock on her door, and ask for an explanation. Why sleep with me then disappear? How could you do that to someone?_

“Arya, don’t you fucking dare!” he heard, as he sorted through his keys, trying to find the one for his door. Just as he thought he saw it, Sansa’s door opened and two figures hurtled out. He wasn’t drunk enough that he missed the way Sansa’s face flushed when she saw him, the way it always did now. He couldn’t believe she was that embarrassed about what happened that she always blushed when they saw each other now.

“What perfect timing!” the brunette exclaimed. Jon was pretty sure it was her sister, Arya. “Sansa and I were just coming to talk to you.” Sansa’s flush deepened.

“No, we weren’t. C’mon Arya, leave him alone.” The steel in her voice cut him deeper than he’d like to admit. It almost stopped him from doing what he’d planned. Almost, but not quite.

“Actually, I was coming to talk to you.” Her eyebrows arched and his words got caught in his throat.

“Brilliant. Let’s go, then.” Arya herded Sansa into her apartment and motioned for him to follow. In the apartment, Sansa was busy making herself another drink and Jon wished he’d had one as well. “I’ll be in Sansa’s room if you need me.” Arya picked up the other glass and disappeared down the hall, leaving him alone with Sansa. Everything Jon had planned on saying died on his tongue.

“Can I get you something?” Her voice was perfectly pleasant, without the edge and steel he heard only moments before. It was enough to make his head spin.

“Water?”

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, drinking from what she’d just made before pouring him a glass of water. She passed it to him and settled on the sofa, levelly looking at him, obviously waiting for him to start.

“I, erm. I wanted to talk to you about…what happened between us.” Her face pinked and she started picking at a thread on her flannel pants.

“What about it?”

“Tormund and Gilly keep asking about you. I tell them your busy with work,” he said instead, some part of him hoping it would guilt her into something. When she looked abashed, Jon’s gut twisted in immediate regret.

“You haven’t told them?”

“I couldn’t. They were…” _so excited to see me happy_. “They really liked you.”

“I really liked them, too.” Her voice was small and Jon wished he could hold her, but even with the whiskey he had more resolve than that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about them.” _You didn’t think about me either._

“Why’d you do it?” Jon blurted. Sansa stiffened next to him.

“Do what?” It wasn’t that she asked to be coy; Jon could see the confusion on her face. Or, he thought he could. He had to remind himself that she was a brilliant actress—he knew that first hand.

“Drop off like that weekend never happened.” Sansa was running her finger around the rim of her glass, and for a minute he thought she wasn’t going to respond.

“Sex changes everything,” she muttered, a sad laugh escaping with it. His stomach sank. _She regrets it_. He knew she would. He closed his eyes, pushing against every shitty feeling rises up.

“Oh.” He tried to hide the dejectedness from his voice but he doubted he was successful. He saw her turn, looking him in the eyes for the first time since they accidentally had eye contact after she nearly fell out of her apartment with Arya. He knew his emotions must be clearly displayed because her face suddenly softened. He thought he saw tears in her eyes but that didn’t make sense. She wasn’t the one being rejected. _Unless she’s that empathetic and her tears are for me,_ he thought. _That’s so much worse_. Jon breathed slowly through his nose to try and calm down before excusing himself and admitting that the beautiful redhead was far too good for him anyway. Then he felt a hand on his arm.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she whispered. He looked over, startled to see she moved closer. They had been as far apart as possible on the sofa but now she was right next to him. She pulled his hand into her lap, index fingers tracing the lines of his palm. He wished it didn’t cause shivers to run down his spine.

“It’s not what you think,” she continued, still quiet. “This is going to sound stupid.” She paused again, refusing to meet his eye. Suddenly something dawned on him. Jon moved to hold her hand between both of his.

“Sansa, I think I understand.” Relief streamed across her face. Suddenly everything made sense. How upset she was after he said no the first time, how she asked _will you show me?_ How every time he’d seen her since she blushed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Didn’t think it was necessary,” she shrugged. His eyebrows rose.

“Sansa, it’s nothing to be embarrassed by. You should’ve told me. I could’ve made that night so much better…” Confusion flickered in her eyes.

“Jon, that night was great,” she said slowly. “It was exactly what I wanted.” He couldn’t believe that _pride_ was suddenly the emotion he felt. That hardly seemed appropriate.

“Still, your first time shou—”

“My _first_ _time_?” she repeated. “First time having sex you mean?” Jon wasn’t really sure why she needed that clarification, but he nodded all the same. “That wasn’t my first time,” she said slowly. Now Jon was the one who was confused.

“But…” Sansa took a deep breath and he could tell she was readying to tell him something.

“Seven hells, I can’t say this out loud twice in one night.” She pulled out her phone then and started typing slowly. He felt the buzzing seconds later. _I’ve had sex before. I’ve never had an orgasm from someone else._ Jon read the text slowly and thought the floor fell out from under him. _Seven save me._ That was worse. That was definitely worse. He could have handled her not having had sex before him. That was easy enough to handle. This was different. He wanted to kill whoever it was she’d been with before. _Who could be that fucking selfish_?

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” He could live with that. Her lips pressed into a line and she slowly shook her head. His heart dropped.

“I know you asked me just to make Ygritte jealous and so you didn’t sleep with Val again, but… I don’t know. It felt like more. It was hard to remember that we weren’t actually dating,” she admitted. She wasn’t looking at him but he was staring dumbfounded at her, because that sounded an awful lot like she was saying she liked him.

“Sansa, I’ve had a lot of whiskey tonight and opaque isn’t computing well right now.” She met his eyes again, studying him. It was felt like when she appraised him while she straddled him that night. His heart started beating faster again. Her hand was cradling his face then, a finger softly stroking his beard, pulling him closer to her until their lips met. He kissed her back eagerly, hungrily and his heart swelled when she kissed back with the same enthusiasm.

“Clear enough for you?” she breathed when they parted. He was breathing harder than he’d like to admit, forehead still pressed against hers. He grinned and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left


	13. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly feelings and a little smut

Sansa was sitting on Jon’s lap even though there were plenty of chairs around Sam and Gilly’s table for her to have her own. She pointed this out to Jon but he wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and insisted that she was his good luck charm. He claimed that he won more hands than he had in ages. She doubted that was true but she enjoyed sitting on his lap with his arms around her so she didn’t really care.

Sansa was finally attending one of the weekly Saturday night poker games and the reception she got when Jon pulled her in behind him was akin to a homecoming. Both Gilly and Tormund hugged her as if they hadn’t seen her for ages when in reality it’d only been a little over a month. Jon hadn’t let go of her since then—really, he hadn’t let go of her since last Saturday when she kissed him. Every moment they weren’t at work or sleeping or obligated to be somewhere else they were together. As hesitant as he was that weekend they were pretending to be together about PDA, now that they were actually dating he was constantly touching her, be it just sitting close enough that they were touching or holding hands or her on his lap, if they were together they were touching.

They had made up another story about why she hadn’t come to one of their earlier games that pacified everyone, and Tormund played along. He didn’t make any side comments or hint at all about what he knew, and Sansa was grateful for that. She really liked Jon’s friends and she didn’t want them to see her as a liar, even if she wasn’t lying anymore.

Sansa thought it was amazing how easily her and Jon fell into each other. She thought it was because of the weekend of pretending to be a couple, but even then they skipped the awkwardness of an early relationship for the most part. They’d already slept together, in both senses of the phrase; they knew each other’s limits and the important parts of their pasts because of their pretending. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if they would have the same relationship, or if they’d even have a relationship, if they hadn’t spent that weekend faking one. All she knew was she wouldn’t trade it—even that awkward month of them avoiding each other and being chicken shits because when Jon looked at her she felt the world stop. Because he looked like her like she was the world.

He was looking at her like that now, even though Edd was telling a story. The hand he had on her waist moved to her arm and he lazily started running the very tips of his fingers from her elbow to wrist. There was nothing sensual about it but it gave her goosebumps. Jon must’ve noticed, as a grin broke over his face.

“Sansa? Sansa?” It took her a second to realize that Tormund was trying to get her attention.

“Oh, sorry,” she grinned sheepishly.

“Can ya help me with something in the kitchen?”

“Really, Tormund? Gilly can’t help you?” Jon held her tighter. Tormund arched an eyebrow and Sansa realized he must want to talk to her about whatever Jon told him.

“I’ll be right back.” She kissed his cheek and she was sure his soft look followed him to the kitchen.

“Come here, I wanna show you something,” Tormund said in what must’ve been his whisper. He turned her to the doorway they just came through and pointed. She didn’t understand. She was looking at Jon. He was laughing at something and even when he stopped there was still a curve of a smile on his lips.

“What? It’s just Jon.” She turned back to Tormund.

“You know the last time I saw Jon smile like that?” She shrugged. “With you, at the wedding. And before that? Before he started dating my cousin. He didn’t look like that with her. He hasn’t looked like that since her.” Sansa blushed and glanced back out to him, where he still had a small smile. “I’m glad you worked out whatever was between you. He’s happy with you. And I don’t know you that well, but you look pretty happy with him too.”

“I am,” she said quietly.

“Knew you two would be good together. And _you_ didn’t believe me.” He laughed then and Sansa rolled her eyes. He handed her a can of what Jon was drinking and a bottle of what she’d been drinking. He pulled out another for himself. “Gotta keep up pretenses.” He winked and she wanted to throw something at him.

“I’m sure the stiffness is just from extensive use. Maybe you should switch up hands?” she said loudly instead, proud of the impressed smirk that flashed across Tormund’s face and the laughter that started in the other room.

* * *

 

When they reached the floor of their apartments Jon tugged her into him.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” His voice was hesitant and Sansa found it so endearing. Aside from the first night when they fell asleep talking on her sofa, they hadn’t slept together, in either sense. He said he wanted to slow down—that weekend was a long-term relationship squeezed into five days and he didn’t want to fuck anything up with her. Sansa had been mildly disappointed at that but she had Jon and that was what mattered.

She answered by kissing him. He lifted her like he had the other time and kissed through the apartment to his bedroom.

When he laid her down on the bed, Sansa thought it would be so easy to fall in love with this man. He was kind and sweet and gentle, the type princesses hope for in fairy tales. She could easily love him, and the look in his eyes as told her he could easily fall in love with her as well.

His kissing distracted her from her thoughts. He was slowly removing her clothes and after every inch of skin was revealed he kissed it as though he was kissing the hand of royalty.

Once she was only in her underwear, she wiggled away enough to repay him in kind, until he was in his boxers. She moved to straddle him then, but he flipped them so he was above her.

“We’re going slow, remember?”

“Seven save me, if we’re stopping now…” He kissed her again to cut her off.

“Tonight’s for you. Don’t worry about me, all right?” Sansa opened her mouth to dispute but his mouth was over her underwear and anything she was about to say was overpowered by the quiet moan.

Sansa’s moans got louder when he pulled her underwear down at a tortuously slow rate and his tongue made contact with flesh.

Her memory and dreams hadn’t done him justice. His tongue was moving slowly, up and down her clit, occasionally sweeping up to tease the very top where she was most sensitive. She couldn’t control the needy sounds coming from her but she didn’t care because they seemed to urge Jon on. Every time one escaped his fingers would tighten their hold on her thighs or his pace would tick up just slightly.

Sansa couldn’t help the way her hands fisted in his curls or her heels pressed into his back. But she didn’t care because she knew Jon wouldn’t. She let herself go with him.

His tongue was making a figure eight and every time he hit the spot on top she felt something tighten in her.

“J-Jon…” she panted, and he pulled her hips off the bed. She was sure she must be hurting him with how tightly her hands were latched on to his curls, or she would have been if she could think straight. The only thing she thought of was the motion of his tongue and the tightening below her stomach. When Jon reached a hand up to pull back her hood and finally pay attention to the top of her clit she thought she would cry from the pleasure.

He slowed down then, as if to draw it back out but her legs were already shaking on his shoulders. His tongue circled furiously then, unrelenting until she was arched off the bed, crying out his name.

“I like it when you say my name,” he whispered once she pulled her underwear back on and he’d wiped his mouth.

“I’m sure you do,” she joked because she was spent and feeling slightly awkward at how vocal she’d been. He wrapped her in his arms, his nose pressed to the back of her neck.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I do, but I meant in general too.” Sansa tried to turn to face him but he was holding her too tight for her to shift that far around. Not that she minded. Instead, she started stroking his arm like he had been during the poker game. She smiled when it caused goosebumps on his arm as well.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked, and this time Sansa broke free to face him. His expression was open and unworried, but she didn’t understand the need for the question.

“You already asked me that,” she pointed out.

“I meant all night.” It clicked then. The first time he’d been asking for what they’d just done. This time he was asking for her to spend the night. Sansa gently pushed a curl off of his face, still confused about the need for reassurance, but they had time. She would learn about everything she didn’t have a chance to learn last time, when they rushed everything into five days.

“Of course.” She kissed him softly, one hand still in his hair. He leaned into her touch and she continued to threat her fingers gently through his hair, watching with fondness as his eyes drooped and his head fell into her shoulder. Her hand didn’t stop even though she was sure he was asleep.

Sansa studied his face, as she had the morning of the wedding. That morning he’d looked concerned—worried about something. She briefly wondered if it had been something to do with her, given that the day before had been the day she was so upset with him. He’d had a worry line between his brows and she wanted to touch it, see if she could make it go away, but she hadn’t because they weren’t dating. She could now, though.

Except he didn’t have that line tonight. He looked peaceful, relaxed and Sansa settled for kissing between his brows instead.

She settled down next to him again, smiling as his arms moved to accommodate her new position before pulling her tighter against him. She pulled the blankets higher over them, wiggled just a little bit closer, and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off a little crack-y but I promise it's not (at least I don't think so)


End file.
